Astarte
by Lamby
Summary: A Goa'uld crash lands in Paris, France, looking for a new host. X-Men and SG1 must join forces to foil Astarte's evil plans.
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer:** I own nothing, nada, zip. My OCs own me.

**A/N:** Stargate/X-Men crossover, mainly because I have been watching far too many Stargate repeats. Please let me know what you think? Reviews are gold dust and duly appreciated.

**01**

_The __Xavier School for Gifted Youngsters, Westchester, New York_

Samantha Hawley, a.k.a. Shockwave, strolled nonchalantly into Professor Xavier's sunlit office. She sat down on a vacant chair and bestowed a remarkably pleasant smile on the room's other occupants. Professor Xavier risked a sideways glance at Shockwave's personal tutor, Scott Summers. Cyclops was pensive, his lips pursed and his arms folded defensively across his chest. Shockwave had asked for this meeting with the two teachers. She wanted something, but not even the world's most powerful telepath could guess what it was.

Seemingly oblivious to the Professor's intrigue and Cyclops' insecurities, Sam crossed her legs, tugging absently on a strand of hair from her fringe. It was a habit she'd developed since she had chopped off her long, bleached locks in favour of a hair cut that was her natural brunette, short, choppy and probably eminently stylish. Her eyes were witch-hazel, her nosy dainty and paid for, her forehead proud and her chin entirely stubborn.

Shockwave had been a student at the Xavier School for several years now, since her mutant powers had appeared. Samantha had finger bones that could vibrate at almost supersonic speeds, causing anything she touched to shatter. Enigmatic and popular, the US senator's daughter was due to graduate the school anytime. Xavier knew Scott was worried that she'd ask to stay on and join the X-Men. The Professor was more concerned that she would not.

"I want to join the Air Force," announced Sam with aplomb. The Professor closed his eyes and said nothing, gravely concerned. Scott was not so tongue-tied, "What?" Cyclops gasped, unfolding his arms and leaning forward in his chair, "Why?"

"My dad was Air Force, once upon a time in a galaxy far, far away. If I want to follow him into politics, a stint in the forces is practically essential."

"Sammy, you're a known mutant, you can't…" Shockwave glared at Cyclops, cutting him off. "Why can't I?" she argued doggedly. "Someone has got to go first. Someone was the first black recruit, and someone was the first woman. If I become the first known mutant in the Air Force, so what? It might encourage others to come forward and join up."

"It's a noble thought, Samantha," placated the Professor as he calmly cut in before the argument could escalate. "It's also not that straightforward. You have to be aware that as a mutant you would be entering a potential minefield. Once enlisted, you will have skills and connections that could be unscrupulously used to harm mutants, whatever your intentions. The next William Stryker or General Kincaid is no doubt even now waiting in the wings for such an opportunity."

"No offence Professor," replied Shockwave flatly, "but you're starting to sound as suspicious as Magneto. You've taught us to be the first to reach out for peace and trust, to hope for a better tomorrow for mutants and humans alike. If the next generation of Air Force officers attend the academy alongside a mutant, then maybe they won't follow creeps like Kincaid or Stryker so blindly."

Xavier smiled at that, so keen was the young woman in front of him. "It appears I have been flummoxed by my own arguments," he conceded. Scott shook his head slightly, not entirely approving of the way this conversation was going.

"Please Professor;" entreated Sam, "I just need a reference. I swear I can handle the rest."

"Very well," the Professor reluctantly agreed. "If your father is in agreement, and you are sure that this is what you want to do with your life, we will support you." Sam was nodding frantically in an action that made her short fringe bob up and down excitedly. Xavier held up a hand placating and met Sam's witch-hazel eyes with his own sincere blue ones. "Samantha I want you to promise me that if you have any concerns at all once you arrive at the Air Force Academy, you will contact the X-Men immediately."

"I know, I know," Samantha waved her hand in the air dismissively, quoting, "once a king or queen of Narnia, always a king or queen of Narnia." Cyclops' stern mouth curled into a small smile at that, whilst Xavier positively chuckled. The angst seemed to immediately dissipate in the room. At a nod from the Professor, the meeting was adjourned and Scott and Sam stood to leave. "Hey Cyke?"

"Don't call me that."

"Sorry Cyclops. Now that's all decided, can I have a go at piloting the X-Jet? Y'know, get some practice in?"

"Not if you were the last eager potential Air Force cadet on the planet," Cyclops replied with a grimace that was almost a smile.

"Aww," moaned Shockwave as Cyclops left the room before she could argue her case. Sam glanced back over her shoulder to see that the Professor's eyes were sparkling with silent laughter. In her mind so that Cyclops couldn't hear him, the Professor told her, #Ask my daughter if she will take you up in the jet. I'm sure Ilehana will be more forthcoming than Cyclops. You do make him quite nervous you know Samantha.#

#What can I say, its too easy.# Sam replied. #Thanks Professor, for everything.#

#You're welcome Samatha, you are welcome.#


	2. Chapter 2

**Disclaimer:** I own nothing, nada, zip. My OCs own me.

**02**

_A__pproaching l'Arc de Triomphe, Paris, France_

The Parisian night sky was tranquil, bathed in the same orange glow that illuminated all of the planet's 21st century westernised cities. Barely a star pierced the throbbing ulcer-like light that domed over the city like some science-fiction force-field. Under the pollution of the acrid streetlights and pulsating neon signs, the denizens of Paris had adapted to this falsetto sky. No one looked up, childlike in awe of the vastness of the universe. No one marvelled at the constellations scattered across the heavens. No one wondered if there might be something more, something greater than this earth-bound existence. So when the epic burnt sienna sky was scythed by a flare of screaming, raw energy, blazing and seething like a hellfury dragon, no one noticed until it was too late.

Arista Odysseya, formerly Michael Bertoni of Queens, New York City, was on her way to work. She was primed and ready in shear stockings, leopard print Jimmy Choo's, matching Prada handbag, indigo Givenchy dress and Chanel perfume. Gritting her teeth behind luscious lip-glossed lips, she tapped her nails on the steering wheel of her Umbrian red, open-top Bentley Continental GTC. Lovingly she coaxed the car onto the world's most notorious roundabout, l'Arc de Triomphe.

The urban legend ran along the lines of there were so many accidents here that insurance companies would refuse to insure cars to be driven around this intersection. Arista knew she should probably avoid it altogether, but she adored the visceral thrill of driving through Paris at night time. And the cross-dressing call girl turned Madame of Paris' most infamous red light establishment knew a thing or two about visceral thrills.

With nasty 1980s pop abusing the car's stereo, Arista was in the process of trading hand gestures with a Citroen driver who had just cut her up, when the sky started to fall. From out of the heavens came a bright ball of fire. It was rounded and white hot to the fore, whilst a miasma tail streamed out behind it like a comet. The Parisian air was split with a double sonic boom that made Arista duck down, expecting an explosion. The explosion came the next instant as whatever this flaming orb was careered straight over the top of the nearby buildings, and impacted at the foot of l'Arc.

The noise of the impact hit like a tsunami. Glass shattered. Dirt and dust clouded the air. Car and building alarms screamed their protests. Flying debris stung Arista's face, drawing blood from her polished skin. Panicked, she dived flat across the passenger seat of her car. Glass and concrete clattered down on top of her back, trying to bury her alive. She couldn't hear, couldn't breathe, and could barely complete a coherent thought. Her heart was in her mouth as she wondered if this was the end…

Time passed. Eventually Arista lifted her head, clutching her steering wheel like a medieval shield. Her once-perfectly sculpted dark hair was now matted and bedraggled, hanging loose around her face. All around her people were abandoning their cars and running, wailing, panicking. Slowly Arista fumbled for the door handle and let herself out of the battered Bentley. Disorientated, Arista staggered the opposite way to everyone else, fighting her way through like a salmon swimming upstream.

The crowd parted ominously, leaving Arista alone on the edge of the impact crater. The ground steamed, charred and blackened by the crash. A solitary Peugeot teetered on the edge of the crater, its doors flapping open like elephant's ears. In the bottom of the crater like an egg in a nest lay the object that had caused such devastation. It was large, about eight feet from end to end, and shaped like a coffin or sarcophagus. As Arista watched there was a hiss, and the egg started to crack. The white-hot metallic surface split open, peeling back inside itself.

Arista recoiled as the coffin opened to reveal the battered and desiccated remains of an ancient grey-haired woman. The American transvestite wrinkled her nose in disgust at the body's wrinkled, yellowed skin and the toothless gums. The corpse's breasts sagged under a translucent white robe. The belly was bloated like a dead fish left in the sun, and the body's hands were like the scaled feet of a chicken. Covering her mouth with her hand, Arista tried not to breathe in the stench of death as she climbed down unsteadily into the crater. Up close, the capsule was covered in markings, inlaid in gold and black obsidian. Arista felt grim fascination that made her reach out one hand to touch the corpse's flesh.

Without warning, the corpse's eyes snapped open wide, flashing brilliant yellow. A hoarse, deep voice spoke out from behind the toothless gums. "Help me," the old woman begged, "Help me…"


	3. Chapter 3

**Disclaimer:** I own nothing, nada, zip. My OCs own me.

**A/N:** Stargate fans please bear with me whilst I make an attempt at introducing SG1 (as per the final season, sorry, no Jack O'Neill) for anyone not familiar with the program. Cheers, Lamby

**03**

_B__riefing Room, Stargate Command, Cheyenne Mountain Air Force Base_

Deep underground in possibly one of the world's most top secret military installations, General Hank Landry took his habitual seat at the briefing room table with an air of uncustomary distraction. He placed a brown paper folder flat on the smooth table top in front of him, and folded his chubby hands over it. He did not like being the barer of bad news. Still, he felt he owed it to SG1, his crack team of interplanetary explorers, to at least warn them of what may or may not be about to occur here on Earth. The commanding officer of the SGC, nobly following in the footsteps of Generals George Hammond and Jack O'Neill, gazed solemnly at each of the SG1 members in turn, trying to judge how they would react to the news.

To Landry's left, Colonel Samantha Carter, PhD, was her unequivocal wide-eyed and generally enthusiastic self. Brilliant astrophysicist and excellent soldier, Landry was hard pushed to think of a finer example of Air Force personnel. Next to the short-haired blonde woman sat Doctor Daniel Jackson, sombre as always. The man who had all those years ago gotten the Stargate working twitched as he waited for Landry to begin. In Daniel's hand, a biro pen tapped lightly on the table, betraying Daniel's eagerness to get back to his precious archaeological research.

Next to Daniel sat the first of the team's two alien members. Vala, although genetically human, had been born on a distant planet and had grown to become an intergalactic con-artist and thief. For a time, she had even established herself as a false goddess. For the most part reformed now since befriending SG1 in general and Daniel in particular, Vala still battled her demons. The dark pigtails she wore and the way she leaned forward with her chin in her hand as she waited for Landry to begin made her seem somewhat immature, even mischievous.

Opposite Vala was seated Teal'c, SG1's Jaffa member. Formerly First Prime of the Goa'uld system lord Apophis, the immense muscle-bound black man still bore the gold serpent insignia on his forehead. Teal'c had been instrumental in leading his people to freedom from the parasitic Goa'uld. It was little wonder to Landry that Teal'c had a smug look about him these days.

Colonel Cameron "Shaft" Mitchell sat in the final seat at the table, between the Jaffa and Landry. Plucked from relative obscurity to replace the legendary Jack O'Neill as SG1's team leader, Mitchell's dogged efforts had persuaded the rest of the team not to disband. More impressively Cam, with his chiselled good looks and athletic physique, was only so far mildly afflicted with the rampant sarcasm that seemed to go with the job. Indeed it was almost impassively that Mitchell glanced at his watch and said, "Whenever you're ready, sir."

"Yes, of course," Landry agreed, moving to open his brown file and spread the grainy black and white Polaroids across the table in front of SG1. "Two nights ago in Paris, France, an object crash landed at the base of the Arc de Triomphe. Moments beforehand there were sightings of something like a comet or asteroid travelling at velocity through the sky."

"Something entering our atmosphere?" hypothesised Carter.

"Quite," intoned Landry. "The official French government line is that the object was a communications satellite that had malfunctioned and crashed to Earth. The truth is that they have no idea what the object is, but I fear that we here at the SGC just might."

"Alien technology," realised Daniel. "Is there any chance we can have the object brought here for study?"

"Not without risking an international incident. Our government has already offered to help with the analysis of the object, and been turned down by the French. They suspect something and are determined to analyse this their own way. The most I can offer you are these photographs taken by an operative inside the forensic team working on the object in Paris."

There was silence for a moment after Landry's words, as each member of SG1 picked up the photographs to peruse them. The capsule was open, yet it was also empty, offering no clue as to whom or what had been inside. It was Teal'c who had an opinion first of all, "The object appears Goa'uld, perhaps it is an escape pod of some design."

"What, again?" groaned Mitchell, tossing his photograph back onto the table.

"There are markings on the body of the object," Carter confirmed, turning her photograph in the light. "Daniel, can you make them out?"

"Possibly… Of course it would be easier if the pictures weren't so grainy," Daniel wondered aloud. "Ah, wait, here." He stood up, putting the picture down on the table so that everyone could see it, and indicating to an area on the front of the sarcophagus-like pod. "I recognise this motif here. This is a woman with the head of a lioness, riding in a chariot pulled by four horses. See, here. She's driving over the body of a fallen foe or enemy. Now this depicts the Phoenician goddess Astarte, who was an eighteenth dynasty addition to the Egyptian Pantheon. She is a goddess of fertility, the moon, and of war. She appears in the Bible no less, as, um, Ashtaroth and also of Ashtoreth, the goddess of ill-repute."

"Nice," chipped in Mitchell. "So what, we think that this Astarte avoided the overthrowing of the Goa'ulds and the battle with the Replicators and has now made her way to Earth? Why? After all we've inflicted on the Goa'uld, why come here?"

"I guess that's what we need to find out," Vala pointed out calmly. Landry wasn't fooled. Vala was a former Goa'uld host and she couldn't hide the fear in her eyes. Teal'c too looked uncomfortable, remembering no doubt the infant symbiote he had been dependant upon to survive, and that had left him needing a chemical compound to live without it.

"Keep your eyes and ears open," Landry ordered his team. "We don't know for sure that there is another stray Goa'uld out there, but if there is I'm sure he or she won't stay hidden for long."


	4. Chapter 4

**Disclaimer:** I own nothing, nada, zip. My OCs own me.

**04**

_Diego's Bar, Westchester, New York_

Midafternoon rain, solemn and satin, pattered lightly against the window on the front of Diego's Bar. A steady stream of foot traffic had tramped the moisture inside, smearing the polished oaken floorboards with muddy footprints. The atmosphere inside was tinged with the smell of damp clothing and a hint of alcohol. In the corner the jukebox played softly to itself, covering lapses in conversation with coffee-shop soft rock. The barman, not Diego but his nephew fresh from New York City, fingered through the wanted ads absently. A small group of businessmen talked shop at the table by the window.

On the opposite wall, the bar's only other occupants sat at a booth lined with green leatherette seats. The man and woman were both mid-twenties. He had mousy hair, piercing blue eyes and an easy smile. Casually dressed in worn blue jeans and a grey t-shirt printed up with a stylised image of a scantily clad beauty, he had his Converse All-Stars on the seat in front of him. Bobby Drake moved the laptop mouse across the table, a look of concentration on his face as he marked work from his IT classes at Xavier's School.

"Look at this," Iceman nudged his companion, who glanced up and over at the screen obediently. "Outta a class of twenty, only Brodie Alexander actually finished the assignment. I can't believe it. I swear I went through it step by step with them."

"Shit Bobby, what were you trying to get them to programme, the space shuttle?" offered the British woman insightfully. She leaned on Bobby's left arm, reaching across him to turn the laptop to face her. A petite redhead, Blaze sported long ringlet curls that hung down her back. She had large doe-like brown eyes and a cherubic face. She was wearing two pairs of Bollywood-style earrings, a salmon-pink halter neck top, dark coloured jeans with a brown chiffon scarf as a belt, and pink ballet shoes. As always Blaze was exquisitely made-up and her nails manicured. Bobby let her lean across him, enjoying the warmth of her body and the charcoal-like smell of her hair. Blaze didn't notice as she continued to speak, "The only reason Brodie could finish the task is because Brodie is an ultra-geek."

"Brodie's my star pupil," cautioned Iceman.

"Exactly," Blaze chirruped. "He's a geek. IT students are always geeks, because geeks are drawn to doing IT. You teach the geek-class, Bobby."

"My students are not geeks!" Bobby protested incredulously at her gentle teasing. "Since when?" laughed Blaze as she leaned back and grinned at Iceman.

"Since I'm the absolute coolest, most chilled teacher in the history of the universe," Iceman pointed out righteously. Blaze chuckled, ceding the point, "Okay, I'll give you that one."

At that moment the bar's door opened and a bedraggled motorcyclist entered, removing his black helmet as he did so. He wore a short brown leather biker's jacket, over an expensive-looking collarless linen shirt that was barely buttoned, and a pair of heavy black biker trousers and boots. There was a day's worth of stubble on his chin, whilst his red-brown hair hung in an overlong fringe that almost covered his eyes. Red-on-black eyes that immediately spotted Iceman and Blaze, sending Gambit trotting over to greet them. Blaze stood as Remy le Beau approached, putting her hands on her curvaceous hips and pouting petulantly.

"Oi, Swamp Rat, I've got a bone to pick with you!" Remy glanced sideways at Bobby for either an explanation or some support, but Bobby merely held up his hands in defeat. Over the other side of the room the businessmen turned at the sound of a raised voice. Blaze ignored them all, berating the Cajun loudly for the benefit of everyone present.

"I don't give a monkeys if you do sell on the answers to Ororo's "surprise" humanities tests three days in advance. I couldn't give a toss if you haven't done a day's laundry in five years, because you trade slave labour for copies of Kitty's master answer book on a black market that you created. And I don't care if ninety-five percent of the students' first experience of getting drunk is down to the cheap alcohol you get hold of for them, no questions asked." Blaze's voice dropped dangerously low, as she held Gambit's gaze with flaming eyes, "but if you ever, ever, do the coursework for anyone in my language's class again, I swear I will…"

"How'd you know it was me Petite?" Gambit cut her off, not wanting to know the fate worse than death she had planned for him. "For crying out loud, Rem!" Blaze exclaimed, exasperated. "I've known you bloody long enough. Did you really think I wouldn't notice?"

"Okay, so how'd I do?" the Cajun made a break for the papers that Blaze had scattered across her portion of the table. Blaze tried to cut him off, shuffling the papers between her hands.

"You did great, ninety-eight pissing percent," Blaze begrudgingly admitted. "Why? What do you want, a gold sticky star?"

"Maybe," chuckled Gambit, only to wish he could take the words back as Blaze snapped out a hand across the table, and slapped a sticky gold star on his left cheek. Blaze grinned in triumph, only for Gambit to grab her wrist in a firm grip, and with the other hand peel the sticker off his skin. Blaze squeaked, trying to pull away, as Remy returned the favour and stuck the sticker slap in the middle of her forehead.

"Idiote," Blaze chastised him, collapsing back into her seat and peeling off the label. "Who, moi?" Remy asked in mock horror, sliding in besides Blaze. "Hey Bobsleigh," he ordered Bobby, "It's your round homme." Bobby sighed an over-the-top sigh, and obediently trotted to the bar. Remy shrugged out of his wet coat and tossed it away, whilst Blaze started to gather up her papers. As she started to put the work into her bag, Gambit spotted something under the pages of student's work. Frowning, the Cajun pulled the glossy sheaf out and held it up to read. Out of the corner of her eye, Blaze saw what it was he'd taken. Guiltily she froze, biting her lip.

"Rehab?" Remy spat the word like it left a bad taste in his mouth.

"It's the Professor's idea," Blaze conceded.

"I t'ought you'd stopped drinkin' again Cherie?" there was genuine concern in her friend's voice. Blaze felt awful for not talking to Gambit about this, but to be truthful she'd barely spoken to him at all since their last mission. Not about anything serious anyway. "I have," Blaze waved her hand at the half-empty glass of fresh orange that was on the table in front of her. "It's… it's not for the drink Rem." Gambit blinked at her, "Den what's it for?"

"I…" Blaze squeezed her eyes tight shut to stop the tears. It's because of you; she wanted to scream at him. You and Pyro and Indigo and all the other losers I've gotten involved with, that's left me feeling like I'm nothing if I'm not a trophy lay. She said nothing, the silence telling Gambit all he needed to know. "Hey, you wanna go that badly, you go check in Chere," he said gently, touching her bare arm with his fingertips. Blaze shivered under his touch.

"Yeah well, if I thought I needed your permission I'd want something stronger than rehab. I'd have put a gun in my mouth already." She said it dryly, that great British sense of humour, but it still left doubts in Gambit's mind. It had been suggested to him that maybe Blaze was getting suicidal. Now she insinuated it herself, he felt as though someone was walking over his own grave.

"Hey Blaze," Iceman was back, grinning like a mad man around the pack of peanuts he had gripped between his teeth. He put the tray of three drinks down on the table, and spat out the peanut packet. "You gotta a fan over there. Wanna introduction?" He tossed his head back over his shoulder to the barman, who had the decency to blush and look away. Gambit laughed, pleased for the interruption. Blaze avoided looking at the bar, reaching instead for her soft drink, "No thanks, I'm sworn off man-handling."

"Yeah?" Iceman winked at Gambit, "How about woman-handling?"

At that point Bobby had to duck as a full glass of freshly squeezed orange juice flew at him at high velocity.


	5. Chapter 5

**Disclaimer:** I own nothing, nada, zip. My OCs own me.

**05**

_Lecture Theatre Seven, Air Force Academy_

"…So by extrapolating the equation using Ashcroft's Theorem, we can derivate the answer in terms of x, y and z, like this," Colonel Carter said. The black dry-wipe pen in her hand squeaked as it moved across the interactive white board, dragging a solution out of an elaborate equation that so far covered seven-eights of the front wall of the lecture theatre. "There you go," she concluded, straightening her back and snapping the cap back on the pen.

Sam Carter squinted at the board, hoping that the students could read her sprawling handwriting. Turning to face the group she was guest-lecturing, she realised that being able to read her writing was less of a problem than maintaining the motivation to want to read it. There were a very large number of glassy expressions amongst the fifty-strong class. Carter might not understand why everyone didn't find theoretical astrophysics as fascinating as she did, but at least she accepted the fact, "Any questions?"

Unsurprisingly no eager hands shot into the air, budding with enthusiasm. Several students shifted in their seats, poised for their imminent release from the tedium of the physics lecture. Carter was about to dismiss them, when suddenly a thoughtful little voice piped up from the left hand side of the second row.

"I'm not sure about the solution, Ma'am. You've presumed that solid matter is always solid." A ripple of sarcastic laughter reverberated through the room. Carter looked quizzically at the young cadet.

"Well of course," Carter replied, "we could add in a line of equations to account for physical and chemical state. Particularly if the matter is as gas or plasma…" A groan went up around the room as several students couldn't help themselves, obviously thinking that Carter was about to go back and start the lecture over. "I just don't think that its necessary for the situation we described," Carter finished, bringing a sigh of relief from the class.

"No," responded the second row cadet, a pretty brunette who tugged absently on her fringe as she spoke. "That's not what I meant. I meant more along the lines of what if the solid matter could become somehow…intangible?"

There was a shocked silence throughout the room. Carter gagged, thinking of the Tollan technology that had allowed the alien race to walk through walls. Yet there was no way that this cadet could know about that. Could she?

"Freakin' mutant," muttered someone in the middle of the room. Had the class not been so silent that Carter could have heard a pin drop, she wouldn't have heard the vehement hatred in those two words. She couldn't identify the speaker. The second row cadet who'd asked about intangible solids stiffened in her seat, pressed her lips together and looked generally as though she was struggling to control herself. Knowing that she needed to step in before this went any further, Carter spoke up.

"Alright, class dismissed. Cadet if you could remain behind for a moment…" Carter was drowned out by the scraping back of chairs as cadets made a disorderly rush for the doors. Shaking her blonde head to herself, Carter went to the board and started wiping away her lesson. When she turned back, a flushed looking cadet was the only other person left in the room. "What's your name, Cadet?" Carter asked.

"Hawley, ma'am, Cadet Samantha Hawley."

"Nice name," chuckled Sam Carter. Shockwave risked a half smile in response, shifting her feet uneasily. "That was a pretty bold leap you made there, Cadet Hawley, from impact equations to intangible solids. You're right of course, in physics we shouldn't assume anything if we are to progress our understanding of the universe. Still, it's not the kind of leap I'd expect from a first year cadet. What was it that gave you the idea?"

"Oh you know ma'am," Shockwave tried to embrace sarcasm as a defence. "One of my old school teachers could walk through walls."

Alarm bells started to ring in Carter's mind. Had Tollan technology fallen into the hands of someone not authorised to have it, and were they masquerading as a school teacher? Then Carter remembered the word 'mutant', and she had to take a double-take at Cadet Hawley. Could it be that mutants, people that Carter knew existed but had thought of little consequence compared with the importance of the Stargate, made advances in physics that blew the quantum theories she knew out of the water? Giddy at the thought, Carter started to speak very quickly.

"How is that possible? Is it a natural embedded ability or did it have to be taught? Are there materials that cannot be passed through? Has anyone studied…"

"It was a joke, ma'am," insisted Shockwave flatly. She caught hold of her own hands behind her back in an effort to stave off the nervous vibrating of her finger-bones that was the start of her power building up. "I spoke out of turn earlier. I'm sorry. May I be dismissed?"

"Yes, of course," Carter was forced to allow it. She felt more than a little sheepish as Cadet Hawley saluted her, smartly turned about and left the room. Did Carter really believe that a mutant, by definition a human with some erroneous DNA, could overrule all of the laws of physics? It was laughable, thought Carter, and yet the Tollan had managed it with their technology, so surely the laws had been broken already?

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

_Colonel Carter's Lab, Cheyenne Mountain Air Force Base__, Colorado Springs_

The rest of SG1 later found Carter glued to her laptop in her lab. She looked up through the clutter of bits of inventions and chunks of equipment as they entered, but then just as quickly turned back to her monitor. Briefly she outlined what had happened at the Academy, finishing with an explanation of what she was now doing.

"I couldn't stop thinking about it, so I've used Google to look up both Samantha Hawley and the school she went to. Not only is she a Senator's daughter, she and her mutation are pretty well known in their own right. There are websites praising her forthrightness in coming forward as a mutant, forums degrading her, its all absolute madness. I hadn't realised how charged the political situation was about mutants, but it nearly ended her father's political career when Cadet Hawley's mutation appeared."

"What about the school?" Daniel asked, folding his arms and pursing his lips.

"The school is just plain weird," Carter replied, bringing up the website. The name 'Xavier's School for Gifted Youngsters' was printed in simple, block text across the top banner, along with the address and contact details. Underneath was a line of drop-down links. Below that was a picture of a stunning red brick mansion, complete with balconies and picture windows, and all overgrown with wonderful rambling plants.

"Ooh, how lovely," exclaimed Vala. "Are all Earth schools like this?"

"Not last time I checked," quipped Mitchell.

"It all looks pretty normal," Daniel voiced his opinion. "Not that I spend a great deal of time browsing school websites."

"Yes, but look," Carter continued, drawing the cursor over the drop down menus. "There are term dates, tuition fees, directions, and a small amount on the basic curriculum, nothing else. No pictures of staff or students, no contact names, no tour of the facilities. Granted, I don't know a whole lot about schools either, but I'm just left with the feeling there should be more."

"Maybe there is," offered Mitchell, tapping the screen bottom left, over a username and password log-in.

"I already tried that," Carter admitted. "The coding sequence protecting the log-in is so complex I can't hack it."

"That can't be normal, it's a school for cryin' out loud," Mitchell returned.

"Exactly," said Carter, "which means…"

"That they are indeed hiding something," Teal'c concluded.

"I dunno," pondered Daniel. "I'm sure that Google causes more mysteries than it solves."

"What is this goggle, um, Google?" Vala inquired quizzically.

"It's an internet search engine," Daniel explained. "It searches web pages for information matching keywords that you type in this box here…" Daniel proceeded to type his own name into the search box and hit enter. Carter sat back to allow him access as Google returned its results. "See, the first few links are all to papers that I have published on archaeology."

"I'm the same," said Carter. She overwrote Daniel's name with her own and hit enter. More papers appeared, this time on astrophysics. "Cam, you want a go?" she asked Mitchell with a small grin.

"Err, no I'll pass thanks," Mitchell responded elusively. "There's some adult film star with the same name as me. No relation, obviously. Trust me, there are some things no one wants to see."

"Do me, do me," Vala insisted giddily. "I mean after all the things I've done for this plant and the universe in general, I… Oh." The message '0 results found' came up under Vala's name, popping her bubble of self importance. At that moment, flashing lights and obnoxious sirens were set off somewhere deep in the base. Over the PA system an authoritative tone announced, "Unauthorised off-world activation."

"Never a dull day," mused Mitchell as he lead Vala, Daniel and Carter down to the Gate Room. Teal'c lingered behind, loitering with his hands clasped behind his back until the others had gone. Only then did he encroach upon the keyboard, looming over it like a Grecian titan. Carefully, with one large index finger, Teal'c typed his name in over Vala's and pressed enter. As the screen changed, Teal'c's eyes widened and in consternation he raised a single eyebrow. Indeed, this was a very strange planet.


	6. Chapter 6

**Disclaimer:** I own nothing, nada, zip. My OCs own me.

**A/N:** Thanks so much to everyone who reviewed my last chapter!

**06**

_Arrivals Lounge, Charles-de-Gaulle Airport_

Something buzzed in Blaze's jeans pocket as she left the airport terminal building through a glass paneled door. Fishing out her cell phone, she flipped the clamshell open and pressed the button to read her text message. It was a get well soon missive from Bobby, albeit a mildly abusive one. Blaze smiled as she sent a message back in like fashion, teaching the predictive text some whole new words in the process. Immediately after the message was sent she turned her cell phone off, and looked around.

She hadn't gone to rehab after all. A better offer had found her email inbox just before she had left the mansion. So, in a flash of stubborn independence, Blaze had neglected to tell anyone of the change of plan and boarded the wrong plane at JFK. Instead of Miami, she'd landed at Charles-de-Gaulle, Paris. Back in the favourite of her old haunts, Blaze immediately felt the weight start to lift from her shoulders.

As the sun set over the city, she left her hotel in the 7th arrondissement and took a cab down to the Seine. She meandered lovingly down the river, soaking up the atmosphere of her former home. If a trip back to Manchester, England, where she had grown up could have caused her so much grief, then surely it stood to reason that revisiting Paris years after fleeing here as a terrified teenager new to her powers could be a balm to that hurt.

Blaze ate at a back alley café in the 1st arrondissement that she had frequented years ago, and found that French cuisine was still brutal but good. As night fell proper she called to see her old friend the Eiffel Tower, all lit up like a giant iron Christmas tree. It was as she stood underneath the glistening spire that she realised what was missing. All day there had been an empty void, a silence where she would have sworn that when she had lived here did not exist. Gambit, she realised. When she had lived here, it had been as Gambit's protégée, back when things had been simple between them. Blaze shook her head at that. Things had never been simple she corrected herself, removing her rose-tinted glasses. They just hadn't been quite as complicated. Shrugging off Remy's ghost as best she could, Blaze glanced at her watch and released she was running late.

Apprehension caught Blaze unawares as she walked up to the nightclub. It was too early for these to be much of a queue to get in, but still a handful of beautiful Parisians scowled at her as she went straight to the bouncer at the door. Blaze was disappointed when he asked if she was on the list. Time had been she would have just had to give him a glance over and he would have stood aside for her. Fortunately she'd agreed an alias with her friend on the inside, so she was listed. Begrudgingly the bouncer let her through.

Inside was hardly the kitsch Paris of the Moulin Rouge. The bars, dance floors, seating areas and everything in between were all steel and space age. Everything was coated with lots of frosted blue glass and metal grids, both for floors and walls, giving everything a winter feel. The pulsing lights and pumping music, combined with more smoke machines than any Las Vegas show, granted anonymity to those who wanted it. To the left, a black marble staircase was guarded by two more bouncers. Downstairs for the club, Blaze rationalised, upstairs for the private lounge. Blaze knew full well what was likely to occur in the member's lounge; the high-class hookers, the drugs, the high-stakes gambling… Once upon a time she had been totally comfortable moving in that world. Almost ten years on, Blaze felt uncomfortable existing in any.

"Coo-ey, Blaze honey!" someone grabbed Blaze's bare arm and spun her round, enveloping her in a hug before she had time to recognize the person. Just as abruptly Blaze was released, to be held by the wrists as Arista perused her shamelessly. "Darlin', you've put on weight. Don't tell me you've had a baby?"

"'Riss!" Blaze exclaimed, "You've not seen me since I was eighteen, 'course I've put weight on, it's called growing up. Besides I didn't come here to be insulted. I could be in rehab in Miami rubbing elbows with the rich and famous."

"Couldn't we all, hon, couldn't we all," replied Arista with a haughty sniff. "You said in your email that the guys out there had been gettin' on top of you in more ways than one? Don't worry, I totally understand. You just need a refresher course from your favourite tutor. That is, if you can afford what I've got to teach you? I hear you gave up the crime spree so…"

Blaze shook off Arista's grip and reached to her left wrist. The silver catch on the amethyst encrusted bracelet she wore uncoupled easily. Delicately she slipped the chain off her arm and into Arista's waiting palm. "Stolen?" Arista wanted to know. Blaze refused to answer. "Okay then, time to strut your stuff girlfriend, I need to see what the damage is. You skip on over to the bar and lets see how much of a stir you can cause."

"I don't want to make a scene," gulped Blaze.

"This ain't a scene sweetness," replied Arista with all seriousness, "it's a goddamn arms race." With that she shoved Blaze out into the dance floor. Arista watched as Blaze rallied her sensibilities and shook her long red curls back over her slender shoulders. Eyes did follow Blaze as she scythed her way through the revelers, throwing weapons in the form of curves. Arista pursed her lips, something was wrong here.

Blaze reached the bar with some relief and proceeded to order up a bottle of mineral water. The guy next to her put down his biere blonde and ran his gaze appreciatively over Blaze. When the barman came back with Blaze's drink, the stranger tried to cut in to pay for it. Blaze got her Euros into the barman's hand first, then turned to the stranger apologetically, "Je suis desole…"

"Hey loser, how about you just give her the money and take your faux-pas chivalry elsewhere, it's just you and your hand tonight," Arista arrived like a hurricane. She sent away the stranger in the same flapping motion that made the barman fish out a bottle of bourbon from under the counter. "Girl I have totally diagnosed the problem," Arista told Blaze extravagantly. "When did you get nice? You know you can't be polite to these jerks, they already think that yes means no and get lost means take me I'm yours."

Blaze's face lit up, pleased that Arista had cut to the heart of the problem so quickly. The barman placed a glass of bourbon straight up besides each of them. Arista took a heavy slurp, baring her teeth as she swallowed and the liquid burnt her throat. Blaze just held her cut crystal glass and didn't drink.

"Where's the feisty minx I trained all those years ago?" Arista asked rhetorically. "Honey you're so much more than this. First thing in the morning, you're gonna start rediscovering your inner bitch. We are gonna eat out at L'Ardoise and leave without tipping. We'll spend hours with a personal shopper at Le Bon Marché and not buy a damn thing. We can even go down to an arty cinema and talk all the way through some crappy French film!"

Blaze chuckled, her eyes twinkling. Arista raised her glass in a toast, staring at Blaze until she followed suit, "A toast to what we are, darlin'."

"What's that?" asked Blaze.

"Prima-donnas of the gutter," grinned Arista, knocking back her bourbon in a single movement, "and don't you forget it."


	7. Chapter 7

**Disclaimer:** I own nothing, nada, zip. My OCs own me.

**07**

_Arista's Apartment, 16th arrondissement, Paris_

The following evening, Arista led Blaze up the stairs to her penthouse apartment overlooking the Palais de Chaillot. They were laughing loud, whilst all the little people in the building's communal parts started at them. Arista keyed a code into a backlit black panel on the front door to her pad, and then preceded Blaze into the apartment. Blaze had been in a lot of pied-à-terre's over the years, but none like this.

Black crystal chandeliers hung from gilded ceiling roses, whilst the crimson pile of the carpet was so deep it nearly swallowed Blaze's feet. A black marble fireplace contained real firewood, whilst as plasma screen TV was pinned to the chimney breast. Two red leather chaise longues boxed in the fireplace, opposite either side. The box was topped off with no less than a gilt throne with red cushions. Other rooms opened up through black lacquered doors, whilst the window was shrouded floor-to-ceiling in Moroccan velvet drapes. Blaze found the room extravagant and not entirely welcoming.

"Could you do the honours kitten?" Arista asked, tossing her fake fur stole down on the nearest chaise longue. Blaze snapped her fingers and the firewood in the hearth burst into flames. Arista looked slightly flabbergasted. Knowing someone was pyrokenetic was not the same as seeing fire come out of nowhere on demand. "So, um, what d'you think is the biggest inferno you've caused?"

"I burnt down a whisky distillery," Blaze replied, "that was pretty impressive." Arista didn't know what to say to that, so Blaze continued, "You're sure you don't mind me staying here?"

"No sense in you paying to stay in that dump of a hotel when I've got all this room to myself."

"Great," Blaze smiled, getting a better grip on her suitcase, "can I lend your shower please?"

"Sure hon, its second door on the left. I'll rustle us up some munchies whilst you're gone." Blaze smiled her appreciation and left the living room. Arista maintained the pretence for a few moments, just in case Blaze came back. Then the false smile fell suddenly from her face. Age, weariness and disillusionment vied to make her seem haggard and uncouth. Without saying a word, Arista slipped out of the living room by another door.

The room she entered was pitch black, expect for a small yellow lamp in a distant corner. The drapes were drawn, and not even a slip of the streetlights outside oozed in around the edges of the window frame. There was an overwhelming smell of sickness and desecration lingering like a mist. The room was dominated by an obtuse four poster bed. Someone was in the bed, lying still enough to be a corpse behind muslin curtains that stirred as if they had a life of their own. In a frantic whisper, Arista addressed her bed-ridden guest.

"Astarte, my queen, my goddess, you must rise. I've brought you another mutant girl, just like you asked. You can't afford to be fussy any more. This is your sixth; she's powerful and spirited. Please Astarte, your host is dying, you must take Blaze now or you'll die too…"

Blaze was stood with her face turned up into the flow of streaming water from Arista's shower. Her brown eyes were closed, her mouth open to the water. Long fingers ran backwards through her tangled hair. Through the patter of the water all around her, she did not hear the bathroom lock be slipped. The door opened silently. Blaze shook her head, gasping a little in the water, bracing herself against the tiled cubicle wall with her hands. A shadow passed across the steamed up mirror over the washbasin, but Blaze didn't notice. Letting her hands fall to her side, Blaze rolled her shoulders in their sockets, feeling the warm water massaging away the tension in her neck.

Out of nowhere, a dry, bony hand shot out and grabbed Blaze by the throat, pulling her back into a rough embrace. Blaze didn't have time to react as her feet slipped on the wet tiled floor. There was a sudden flash of pain as something cut deep into the flesh of her neck. Whatever had been holding her suddenly collapsed like a sandcastle before a wave. With nothing supporting her Blaze slipped further, hitting the body of her attacker and then the floor, hard. She tried to cry out in pain and found she no longer had control of her own tongue. Another presence supplanted her in her own body, casting her aside like an unwanted garment. Vile and angry, sinister feelings poked and clawed at Blaze as this new presence exerted its dominance. Deep inside her own being Blaze screamed, but no noise passed her lips.

"Blaze! Blaze don't fight it, don't fight her," Arista charged into the bathroom and knelt on the wet floor, lifting Blaze's head into her lap. Blaze's eyes were open, but they looked only inwards. A succession of violent tremors passed through her naked body. "It'll be over soon, hon, don't fight it," Arista continued to reassure the mutant. Suddenly the whites of Blaze's eyes flared a luminous yellow, and she lay still. "Blaze…"

"No," a voluminous voice echoed around the bathroom, resonating off the tiles, making Arista wince. "She is no longer in control of this body. Help your goddess to rise, slave."

It was not a request. Arista was taken aback, but she did as she was asked. Astarte, the Goa'uld who had taken possession of Blaze's body, held herself regally. She looked with distain down on the empty shell of her old, withered host. "Dispose of this body as you did the others," Astarte instructed Arista. "I must recuperate from the transition." The Goa'uld made to pass Arista and leave the room, before the transvestite called her back.

"Astarte, my goddess, about my service to you…"

"Continue to serve your goddess with such diligence and respect, and you will earn your reward," Astarte told Arista in a voice more menacing than reassuring. Arista snapped her mouth firmly shut, knowing a rebuke when she heard one. Astarte let slip a small, cold smile and left the room. Arista reached over to turn the shower off, before beginning the task she was becoming all too familiar with; disposing of the latest corpse Astarte had left her with.


	8. Chapter 8

**Disclaimer:** I own nothing, nada, zip. My OCs own me.

**A/N:** To whoever is anon. reviewing and flaming Rowena DeVandal, give it up. Its not big and its not clever. Leave her be, please.

**08**

_Arista's Apartment, 16th arrondissement, Paris_

Alone in her bedchamber, Astarte stood in her new body in front of a full-length gilt mirror. She had her teeth bared in a grimace of distain; too pale, too skinny, too scared. If she had not been so desperate, almost to the point of death, she would not have taken this host. She had waited too long before making the journey to Earth, but she had had to be sure. Astarte had been watching Earth since before the Goa'uld System Lords were defeated. From the sanctity of her own small collection of planets she had collated data regarding the next evolution of humanity. How fitting, she thought, that the planet on which humanity had first evolved was the planet on which these "mutants" first seemed to appear in great numbers.

Finally, when convinced that she could make the journey undetected across the galaxy and land on the planet via an escape pod from her small transport vessel, Astarte had come to Earth in person. She came with the specific purpose of taking a powerful mutant as a host. With a more powerful host, Astarte reasoned, and no other Goa'uld to vie for power across the galaxy, she could take back what had been hers before the rise of Anubis and Baal, and the battle with the Replicators. Furthermore, she stood a chance of being able to do what no Goa'uld System Lord had ever been able to achieve- secure the Earth's Stargate for her own use.

One step at a time, Astarte cautioned herself. She casually batted aside the screaming consciousness of her host, as she had so many times down the millennia. This body needed some attention before it was suitable to use as a host. The alcohol-damaged liver was easy to regenerate, whilst various strains and knocks from assorted physical encounters would respond well to the Goa'uld's healing abilities. However the excessive scarring across the host's midriff, up the inside of her left arm, on both front and back of her shoulder, would require the use of a Goa'uld technology to repair. Astarte had the tools, but they were in the escape pod she had abandoned on her arrival on the planet.

There was something else wrong with the host, something that took Astarte a few moments to understand. There were traces of unusual neurotransmitters smeared through the host's nervous system, coagulating around the areas of the brain that controlled emotion, reason and communication. Leftovers, Astarte realised, from mutant humans so powerful they could affect the mind of another. The host seemed to have had a great deal of contact with such individuals, going back years of her life, Astarte was torn between a scientific desire to study and understand the chemicals, and a Goa'uld urge to be in perfect possession of this body with no compromise or infringements. The Goa'uld side of her was stronger, and she set about immediately purging the neurotransmitters from her host's system.

The host herself had retreated, watching silently from a dark corner of this shared existence. Eventually the Goa'uld decided that she had done enough for now. She dressed her new body in one of the outfits Arista had procured for her wardrobe, and pinned up her unruly red hair. It was time to go and reclaim her missing property. And, of course, to establish just how powerful taking this new host had made her…

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

_B__riefing Room, Stargate Command, Cheyenne Mountain Air Force Base_

When all of SG1, plus Doctor Lam, were seated at the briefing room table, Landry hit a button on a black remote control. The lights dimmed and a screen flickered to life with a greyscale piece of CCTV footage. Landry offered no word of warning and no explanation. He merely folded his arms as the footage proceeded.

The view was from a camera at the end of a staunch, stark corridor. Two uniform grey doors sat in the wall to the right. On the left stood a security guard in a hat, waiting behind a tall, thin desk. His back was to the camera. At the bottom of the screen was the date, yesterday, and the time, 02.38. For a short while nothing happened. Then abruptly the security guard seemed to stiffen. His hand strayed to the holster on his hip. He didn't get chance to draw his weapon as suddenly a blast of what appeared to be fire thundered down the corridor to consume him. There was no sound on the video feed, yet no one could dent that the man was screaming. A man on fire, he staggered before collapsing and writhing on the floor in agony.

At that moment, a figure appeared at the top of the screen. She walked down the corridor towards the CCTV camera. The woman was dressed in a dark coloured seamless dress with a high neckline and no sleeves, strappy sandals and more gold jewellery than the entire play-list of MTV Base. She did not even glance towards the smouldering remains of the security guard. Instead she lifted her finely-boned face to look directly at the camera, directly at SG1. The hatred in her face was tangible, like a sucker-punch to the stomach. She raised a hand to the camera, releasing another bolt of torrid flame. As she did so, the whites of her eyes flashed brightly. The camera sparked out, destroyed, and static filled the screen.

"Looks like our missing Goa'uld house guest has finally decided to show herself," said Cam humourlessly.

"The Pentagon has come to the same conclusion," returned Landry as he turned off the video and brought up the lights. "That piece of footage came from a CCTV camera inside the facility where the French authorities were holding the suspected Goa'uld craft."

"They were using it as bait," Vala realised astutely. "Did they capture her?"

"No," answered Landry, "and more than that, we have good reason to believe that she took an item or items from a secret compartment in the bodywork of the escape pod. The compartment was found open and empty when the next security shift arrived and discovered the break in."

"Then you mean…" Vala started.

"Yes, not a single member of the French security force guarding the vessel survived the attack, and no alarm was raised during the break in."

"The fire," Daniel murmured, "but that's, I mean, it's not possible, is it? No Goa'uld technology we've come across has ever allowed them to roast victims alive. I'm guessing, but surely if she had any technology when she left the escape pod she wouldn't need to go back to the escape pod to raid a secret compartment? This doesn't make any sense."

"Sir, can you bring up the last clear image of the Goa'uld?" asked Carter. Landry nodded and obliged, skipping back to the moment before the video expired. Carter pushed her chair back and approached the screen. "If it was any kind of technology, like the hand device, we'd be able to see it. Despite all the jewellery she's wearing, there is nothing on the hand that the fire is coming from. Besides, any kind of technology to project flame like that would need some sort of compressed fuel and a spark, like an aerosol and a lighter. There would also have to be a single ignition point. Here there isn't, the fire is wrapped around her fingers, and it doesn't appear to be burning her."

"So, what, she's generating the fire internally?" Doctor Lam asked with a frown on her face. She exchanged glances with her father, Landry, before continuing. "That's simply not possible."

"Not with a human host," Carter agreed, "but what if Astarte came to Earth with the purpose of obtaining a mutant host? We know that on many occasions Goa'uld have tried to accelerate human evolution, albeit unsuccessfully. Think of Jonas, and Cassandra. What if Astarte found out that us humans had evolved here on Earth without Goa'uld interference?"

"That would make sense," Landry offered, "as the French authorities claim that they know this woman. She goes by several aliases, including the mutant pseudonym Blaze. The French have warrants out for her arrest for several high-profile thefts going back over ten years. The problem is Blaze's last known address was here in the United States."

"Why is that a problem?" Vala asked inquisitively.

"Because," Mitchell explained mock-patiently, "we've been harassing the French to try and get access to the crashed capsule. Now they are hesitating, a thief with ties to the States turns up at the facility and blasts her way through to steal who knows what from the escape pod."

"It looks like we sanctioned her to rob the French," Jackson concluded.

"I have orders to make the tracking down of the Goa'uld a priority," Landry passed on.

"We could approach the mutant community," Carter offered, "if we can track the host's last movements that might lead us to the Goa'uld."

"The mutant community is very secretive," Doctor Lam said, shaking her head. "There's no guarantee you'll be able to find anyone to help you."

"I believe Colonel Carter has already made the acquaintance of a mutant who may be of assistance to us," Teal'c quipped. All eyes turned to Carter, who shifted in her seat uncomfortably. "There's a student at the Academy," she admitted.

"Alright," said Landry. "Colonels Carter and Mitchell see if you can this cadet to help us. Daniel and Teal'c, find out what you can about Astarte, what are her likely movements now she's here on Earth."

"What about me?" Vala insisted, feeling abandoned.

"You," General Landry floundered, "you just stay out of trouble…"


	9. Chapter 9

**Disclaimer:** I own nothing, nada, zip. My OCs own me.

**A/N:** I'm guessing cadet quarters at the USAF academy aren't meant to be like this, but for some reason I've got this scene in my head taking place in a room very much like my room in halls in first year of university. It's freaked me out a bit, as it's probably the only thing me and Shockwave have in common.

**09**

_Cadet Quarters, Air Force Academy_

Cadet Samantha Hawley sat, engrossed to the point of being transfixed, at the small study desk in her quarters. However, the math paper she was supposed to be completing before tomorrow's lecture sat untouched in front of her. Instead she busied herself with a strictly against regulation French manicure. Well, she couldn't be expected to calculate trigonometry with fingernails that looked like they belonged to some Egyptian mummy, could she? A small part of her knew she should abandon her nails and knuckle down instead to her work, but it was a very small part.

The knock at the door, a military issue triple rap, caught her by surprise. It was late, and she figured most of her classmates were likewise weighed down with work and pesky cuticles. At least, she supposed as much. She'd not really had much to do with any of them since the fiasco in Colonel Carter's lecture. Shockwave had nearly thrown in the towel there and then, except she was in no way a quitter. So as she started out of her seat to answer the door, she had scant idea who it could be. Even so, two Air Force colonels (one quite hunky looking,) was pretty far down the list of possibilities.

"Colonel Carter," Shockwave gagged. "Sorry, I think you've got the wrong room. All the important people are in the plush building across the road."

"No," smiled Carter. "We're in the right place Cadet. Can we come in?"

"Sure, I mean yes Ma'am," replied Shockwave. She opened her door as wide as it would go and stood back smartly to let the two colonels enter. Then she closed the door behind them. With three people in the room, there was barely room to swing the proverbial cat. Carter's companion ran his eyes over the white painted walls, the neatly lined bookshelves and the precisely made bed, saying, "Well this brings back memories." Carter smiled, making the introduction, "Colonel Mitchell, meet Cadet Samantha Hawley, aka Shockwave, right?" Shockwave nodded mutely, clasping her hands behind her back and feeling her wet nail varnish smudge in the process.

"Pleased to meet you," Cameron was on his best behavior, greeting the Cadet somberly.

"Likewise Sir," Shockwave returned, before asking Carter, "Ma'am, what are you doing here? If it's about my last physics assignment I swear I'll do better next time."

"Actually Cadet we've come to ask for you help," said Carter.

"We're looking for someone. It's very important," Mitchell explained. "We think she's a mutant…"

"Sir, just because I am one doesn't mean I know every mutant in the country," interrupted Shockwave. She felt grossly uncomfortable. These colonels seemed decent enough, how could she tell if they were part of the threat that Xavier had warned her about before she enlisted?

"That's good," quipped Mitchell, "'cause we don't think she's in the country."

"Please, can you just take a look at the picture," wheedled Carter. "Anything you can tell us would be helpful. You might be able to put us in touch with someone who can track her down."

I could do that already, thought Shockwave, whoever t is the Professor could find her. That doesn't mean I'm gonna send you to Westchester… Carter saw Shockwave hesitating as Mitchell pulled the printout from his uniform pocket. "This is a matter of global security," Carter told Shockwave sincerely. "Please Samantha; we think she is in trouble. She needs your help as much as we do."

With the hairs standing up on the back of her neck, Shockwave wondered what she as getting herself into as she reached out and took the photograph from Mitchell. Slowly she turned it over, examining the grainy grayscale image. Recognising the figure in the still instantly, she gasped and reached for her cell phone.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

_Rec. Room, Xavier School for Gifted Youngsters_

Poker night at the Xavier School for Gifted Youngsters was a long standing tradition, going back at least two months. Tonight numbers were somewhat defeated, with Blaze in Miami, Ilehana Xavier away visiting Moira McTaggart on Muir Island, and Jubilee insisting she had a date. Nightcrawler and Kitty Pryde were both away on a mission, whilst Hank McCoy was attending a UN conference somewhere exotic. Coincidently no one had told Scott Summers that poker night existed… Not that Gambit, Wolverine or Iceman would be drawn into feeling guilty over that slight omission.

So far, things were working quite well with just the three players. Bobby iced the beers, Remy used his powers to pop the tops off, and Logan with his cigar clamped in his teeth was dealing the cards. Remy had used to be dealer, until a series of completely unfounded and unproven accusations of cheating robbed him of his responsibility.

"What the hell is this sorry excuse for music?" Wolverine wanted to know.

"What do you mean?" Bobby was offended as he scooped up his cards. "This is classic disco, Logan. I would've thought you'd appreciate stuff like this."

"Relax homme," Gambit quipped, tossing a few chips onto the table as he shuffled his cards one-handed. "Logan's just sore 'cause de music reminds him o' stickin' it to your mama at her high school prom."

"Don't be ridiculous Gambit," objected Iceman. In the background the school's phone started to ring. "My mother never went to high school, she was born middle-aged."

"That makes two of us," grouched Wolverine. "Is someone gonna get that phone?"

"I'm not leaving the table with Gambit here," Bobby replied. "No offence man, I just don't trust you not to cheat."

"Ditto," admitted Wolverine. "Guess that makes it your call Gumbo."

"What, do I look like a damn school secretary?" complained Remy, taking a swig from his beer before standing and leaving the table.

"Oh I dunno," returned Bobby. "Some half-moon glasses, tasteful knitwear, I think you'd pull it off a treat." Gambit responded with an offensive gesture that had Iceman and Logan chortling with laughter. With the other hand Remy cupped the receiver to his ear, saying, "Hello, Xavier School?"

"Hiya Gambit, its Sam Hawley," piped up a voice at the other end of the line. "Just a quick question, do you know where Blaze is right now?"

"Why?"

"Because I've got two Air Force colonels here asking about her…"

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

_Cadet Quarters, Air Force Academy_

"He wants to talk to you," Shockwave announced, holding her cell phone out to the two colonels. Carter made a gesture for Mitchell to go ahead. With a frown, Cam took the phone and lifted it to his ear, saying, "This is Colonel Mitchell."

"Why d'you need to find Blaze?" the mutant at the end of the line asked bluntly in an accented voice. Mitchell hesitated before replying, "We think she is in danger."

"Den I suggest we meet. Where you based?" Gambit asked dryly. If he was concerned for Blaze's welfare, he didn't let it show in his voice.

"I'm sorry; you don't have the necessary clearance to…" Mitchell protested.

"Let us worry 'bout clearance," interrupted Gambit. "Jus' tell me where your base is."

A/N: Sorry for the delay in posting this, been crazy busy. I'll try and get back into the habit of updating regular, and just coz you've been so patient I'm posting chapter 10 now too. Lamby


	10. Chapter 10

**Disclaimer:** I own nothing, nada, zip. My OCs own me.

**10**

_Briefing Room, SGC, Cheyenne Mountain_

SG1 reconvened for a briefing as ordered the following day. The five team members took their seats around the table as they waited for Landry to arrive. After ten minutes there was still no sign of the General. Cam Mitchell was bored of drumming his fingers on the table by now, so he pushed back his chair and went to open the door. He kept watch down the busy corridor, whilst Daniel Jackson tried to lighten the mood. "I seem to remember when I was a student, that if a lecturer didn't show after a quarter of an hour, then the lecture was automatically cancelled and we could hit the nearest bar."

"Really?" Vala was surprised, "No offense Daniel, but that doesn't sound much like you."

"I'll bet Jackson was the only one who declined the invitation to the bar and hit the library instead," Mitchell commented dryly.

"Are you trying to say I don't know how to have a good time?" Daniel protested.

"Well, you don't," quipped Vala.

"Hey Teal'c, back me up here buddy," pleaded Daniel. Teal'c just raised an eyebrow and remained silent. However if he had been about to make a statement, the Jaffa was saved by the timely arrival of a very flustered General Landry. The portly, graying General blustered into the room like a March squall, accompanied by two nameless lieutenants who proceeded to tidy away bits of paperwork and set out a water jug and a selection of uniform tumblers.

"Colonel Mitchell," Landry began with exasperation clear in his voice. "Can I please ask at what point you were going to tell me that we were expecting a mutant contingent to arrive at our top secret base?"

"They're here already?" Carter didn't believe her ears. Almost at the same instant, Mitchell asked, "Have they got clearance?"

"Yes and yes," Landry sighed. "They arrived ten minutes ago, and they have all the necessary clearance plus some besides, courtesy of our friends at Shield."

"That's impressive," Carter admitted, whilst Mitchell drawled sarcastically, "Aren't we special," unconvinced by the mutant's high connections.

"Huh, t'anks for noticing," a familiar accented voice retorted from the doorway. Gambit stood to one side to let the two junior lieutenants leave the room. When they had passed, a stunning black woman with fine white hair rounded Gambit and preceded him into the room. Mitchell retook his place at the table as Landry introduced the woman as Storm, and said, "I believe Colonel Mitchell has already spoken to Gambit. Please, both of you take a seat."

Landry himself sat at the top of the table, Storm seated herself opposite him. Gambit shut the door and positioned himself next to it, leaning on the wall. Landry looked quizzically at the tall mutant, who ignored the General. Knowing his actions were disconcerting the military personnel, Remy took a pack of cards from his trench coat pocket and started to shuffle them between his hands.

"Very well," Landry accepted the defeat. "Thank you both for coming. May I introduce my top team, SG1; Colonel Samantha Carter, Doctor Daniel Jackson, Vala, Teal'c and Colonel Cameron Mitchell."

"Nice to meet you all," Storm spoke calmly but her voice was flat and without warmth. Her outfit was smart and businesslike. She wore a pale grey fitted trouser suit with a sky blue vest top underneath. Tiny x-insignias in silver winked at her earlobes, whilst her hair was choppy and unadorned. If Storm was smart, then Gambit was casual in scuffed brown boots low slung ripped jeans and a black skinny t-shirt under his habitual trench coat. He hadn't shaved today and his overlong fringe was almost in his red-on-black eyes. His x-insignia was on a string of black wooden dude-style beads around his throat. The two X-Men contrasted greatly with the forest green military gear worn by the SG1 team.

"Lets get down to business," Landry began the meeting. "Teal'c, please pass Storm this photograph." The General handed the photograph of Blaze to Mitchell, who passed it to Teal'c, who gave it to Storm. She glanced at it briefly, her face showing no emotion, before she set it aside. Landry logged her reaction astutely, asking, "Can you confirm that you know this mutant?"

"Of course," Storm obliged. "Her name is Blaze. Like myself and Gambit, she is a school teacher. Her specialism is modern foreign languages." Landry nodded, accepting Storm's attempts to humanize Blaze.

"Do you know where she is right now?" Mitchell wanted to know. "That depends," retorted Storm. "Is she in any danger from you?" Landry was not taken aback, "From us, no. Is she in danger? That is highly likely."

"You're going to have to explain," replied Storm. "We won't help you any further until we know you have Blaze's best interests at heart."

"An' even den you're chances are pretty dicey," offered Remy humourlessly. Landry shook his head and lied through his teeth, "This information is classified, and you don't have the clearance."

"We heard you on the way in," Storm objected. "Shield has given us all the clearance we could ever need. Don't make me call them."

"You wouldn't believe us if we told you," Mitchell responded pragmatically.

"Mutants, remember," pointed out Ororo. "You might be surprised what we believe."

For a moment the tableau held, balanced between the tentative need to have these mutants on-side and the dire perpetuation of an ongoing government conspiracy. Everyone looked to Landry to make a decision. These mutants surely have their own secrets, Landry thought to himself. Surely Shield wouldn't have cleared them if they were a threat to ours? Finally Landry gave in, "Colonel Carter, can you explain?"

"Alright," Carter acquiesced. "For approximately ten years, the United States Air Force has been operating on a top secret mandate out of Cheyenne Mountain. Ostensibly the cover story is that we are studying deep space telemetry. In actual fact we have been using a device found at an archeological dig in Egypt called a Stargate to travel through wormholes to other planets."

"I seen dis show," drawled Gambit, "Wormhole X-Treme. It's on cable." Carter looked flustered so Doctor Jackson took over.

"It's the truth," Daniel insisted. "You only have to look around this table to see it. Vala is human but she was born on another planet. Teal'c is a Jaffa from the planet Tulok…"

"You're an alien?" Storm asked the man to her left. Teal'c took all such accusations in his stride, simply bowing his head to confirm it.

"We've met many different species," Daniel continued. "Not all of them have been friendly. To cut a very long story short we think that your friend Blaze has been taken as a host by an alien life form."

"How do you mean, taken as a host?" asked Storm, horrified.

"Astarte is one of a race called the Goa'uld," Carter explained. "They're parasites, requiring a human host to exist."

"Very bad," Mitchell cut in. "We think your friend has a snake in her head that will know everything she knows and have complete control over her body."

"I have a question," said Storm. "If all this is true and you really have traveled to other planets." She nodded across at Vala. "Other planets inhabited by humans as well as aliens. Have you ever come across mutants like us elsewhere in the galaxy?"

Daniel Jackson cleared his throat politely, meeting Storm's eyes with a cautious but not untrusting gaze.

"We have met humans on other planets, obviously. We know that some time in ancient history the Goa'uld came here to Earth and took humans as hosts. They reigned here as Gods for some centuries before eventually leaving, and when they left they took humans with them as slaves. Under the Goa'uld, humans have colonised a vast array of planets. Still, their roots are very much here on Earth."

"We have met genetically advanced humans, what might be called mutants, on other planets," Colonel Carter expanded. "One, Jonas Quinn, even joined our team for a while. He was hyper-observant; he would notice things that no ordinary human would have the ability to assimilate. After a run in with a Goa'uld, Jonas' powers were forcibly enhanced to the point where he could see the future before it happened.

"Unfortunately," Carter continued, "the experiment Jonas was put through was unstable and he had to undergo brain surgery to save his life. After that he lost his precognitive abilities. Still, Jonas isn't the only example. We've seen humans with a genetic predisposition towards mutation that have been experimented upon by the Goa'uld, resulting in powers such as telepathy and telekinesis. The Goa'uld are power hungry and they want stronger, better hosts. But these experimentations have been unstable, and to the Goa'uld unsatisfactory for use as hosts.

"They've tried other tactics as well," Carter continued after swallowing a mouthful of lukewarm water from the glass in front of her. "On one planet they accelerated the human life span using nanotechnology so that it lasted only a matter of days, trying to forcibly speed up mankind's natural rate of mutation. The point is, they have been looking for advanced mutated humans to use as hosts for a long time. Its only now that a Goa'uld called Astarte has realised that the planet where humans first evolved is also likely to be the planet where the next evolutionary leap is taken."

"Why Blaze?" asked Gambit.

"Who knows?" said Mitchell. "If we can track Blaze's recent movements, find out what she was doing in Paris, we might be able to work out why she was singled out."

"Paris?" gagged Storm, "I thought she was in Miami?"

"She in Paris," Gambit confirmed quietly, but offered no explanation as to how he knew.

"Then you had best be on your way," Landry commanded. "There is a plane waiting for you at Peterson. I must tell you both that Astarte represents a very real threat to the security of this planet. We will do everything we can to conclude this without resorting to deadly force. However there is a limited window of opportunity here. I'm afraid that unless the chance to take Astarte alive presents itself in the next forty-eight hours, SG1 are authorised to use any and all means necessary to exterminate the Goa'uld."

"One more thing," Vala interrupted as Storm nodded to Landry's brutal instructions. "If Astarte has taken Blaze because of her mutant powers, wouldn't it be a good idea if you told us what powers she has?"

"She's pyrokenetic," Storm told them, "and extremely agile. She also has a photographic memory."

"Weaknesses?" Mitchell wanted to know.

"After what General Landry just told us, do you really think I am going to answer that?" Storm replied frostily.

"Alright," Landry called the meeting to a close. "Time is of the essence. You have your orders. Good luck."

At Landry's words SG1 stood and led the way out of the briefing room. Storm and Gambit followed, keeping their own council.

"You're sure you know where Blaze is?" asked Ororo. Gambit nodded seriously, "I checked her emails before we left de mansion. An' ole friend wrote to her jus' before she left with an offer she couldn't turn down, not right now."

"I didn't know you knew Blaze's log-in code?" Storm said.

"Neither does Blaze," Gambit admitted, "or she'd have gone an' changed it…"


	11. Chapter 11

**Disclaimer:** I own nothing, nada, zip. My OCs own me.

**11**

_16th arrondissement, Paris, France_

In the hallway of a nondescript Parisian apartment building, three mutants loitered menacingly. There were two younger men, and one much older. The older man had grey hair, a clean-shaven face and a flare for the dramatic. In the crook of his arm he carried both a crimson helmet and the folds of a long grey cloak. Magneto could barely stifle his impatience. He was not used to being kept waiting.

Alongside the Master of Magnetism, Multiple kept a couple of pairs of eyes in the building's foyer, and more on the street outside. Pyro flicked the lid of his lighter open and closed, impetuously calling forth and then extinguishing a tiny sniveling flame. The scowl on John's face only hardened as the apartment's door opened, and an aging woman wearing too much make-up and jewelry peered around the frame cautiously. Before Magneto could speak, the woman turned back inside saying, "Goddess, your guests have arrived."

As the woman retreated, she left the door open. Magneto, Multiple and Pyro entered behind her, blinking to take in the obtuse decor and the flickering firelight in an otherwise darkened room. There was a solitary figure seated in front of the fireplace, cloaked and hooded like a monk. One hand was visible, clutching a crystal wine glass. The image irritated Magneto; he was no plaything to be called halfway around the world to entertain a drunk.

"May I ask," he enquired coldly, "on whose request the Brotherhood of Mutants has come all the way to Paris? Show yourself!"

There was a low, reverberating chuckle from the cloaked figure. The woman who had answered the door was instantly at hand to take the wine glass. The long folds of cloak fell back as the figure shifted in the throne. She uncrossed her legs and placed her feet on the floor. Feet, calves and thighs were petite and smooth, shown with such deliberate movement as to draw the Brotherhood's eye and still Magneto's tongue. She stood gracefully, pushing back her hood and letting the cloak fall to the floor. Pyro recognized her first, "Blaze?"

"Not exactly," Astarte replied, her eyes flashing yellow. Her fingernails, toenails and lips were painted matt gold. On her feet she wore gold coloured sandals. Her eyes were khoaled dramatically in Egyptian style. On her left wrist she wore a bronze cuff, whilst her right hand was wired into a gold device that capped her fingertips and wrapped around her wrist. A fine hoop of gold was around her neck, from which her dress was suspended. Two pieces of white Egyptian linen covered her breasts before crossing over and wrapping around her. The dress left her back, shoulders and belly bare. The skirt the dress formed came midway down her thighs. Slung around her waist was a belt of the same metal as her wrist cuff, inset with a large blue-green crystal. Her hair was ordained with gold chains that crossed her brow and tamed her curls into a loose braid down her back. The Brotherhood, who were used to seeing Blaze in the basic black of the X-Men's uniform, were left speechless. Unflustered, Astarte approached them.

"My name is Astarte. I am a goddess of the Goa'uld," she told them self-importantly. All the while she looked down her nose at the Brotherhood. "I have traveled across the blackness of space to come to the planet of the Tarien and take an evolved human as a host. Believe me when I say that I know everything my host knows about your struggle against normal, base-line humans. She does not believe that you have the right to wage your war upon them.

"I disagree," Astarte continued. "For thousands of years I have seen that it is always the strong that must impose their rule upon the weak. If this paltry planet cannot understand that, then someone should make them understand."

"That someone would be who, my dear? You perhaps?" Magneto spoke to Astarte like an elderly uncle favouring a temperamental teenager. Astarte glared at him, solemn and regal. She addressed him royally.

"I have summoned you here to offer you a deal. I seek the strongest mutants to become my new Jaffa warriors. If the Brotherhood of Mutants agrees to take me as their goddess and rightful queen, to fight their battles in my name and honour my command at all costs, I will champion your cause. Mutants will rule over mere humans as we forge a new empire."

"My dear Astarte," Magneto was positively chuckling. "I already have one temperamental firestarter in my ranks. There is no place for another, especially one who is an X-Man and appears to be under the delusion that she is possessed by an 18th dynasty Egyptian goddess! Go back to Westchester, Blaze, and pray that if Charles cannot cure you, the feral Wolverine will be able to bring himself to put you out of your misery."

"Do you not believe me, Eric?" said Astarte. She raised her right hand, activating the Goa'uld technology around her wrist. From the centre of her open palm a buzzing like a thousand angry hornets accompanied a gold beam of light that bored straight into Magneto's forehead. His feeble scream as he was caught unawares and unprepared was pitiful. Magneto, Master of Magnetism, plunged to his knees on the plush velour carpet. He did not even have the strength to call upon his powers to defend himself as Astarte mercilessly clamped down on his mind with a vice of pain.

"Do you not believe that I am Astarte, also called Ashtoreth, Goddess to the Phoenicians and the Egyptians? Astarte who rode her chariot over the fallen of her enemy! Astarte of ill-repute, war and fertility, of whom Solomon commanded the Israelites, 'Put away the strange gods and Ashtoreth from among ye.' There were temples to me at Carthage and Memphis. I am the morning and the evening star!

"You think yourself important," she continued relentlessly, "a crusader for your kind. I have seen your type come and go more times than I can count. You do well to grovel before me Magneto, for I am more wise and powerful than you could ever imagine!"

Seconds before Magneto collapsed dead under Astarte's attack, she released him from the hand device. His life was still flashing before him as he fell groveling to all fours in front of Astarte's feet. Eric could barely manage to prevent himself drooling, let alone muster an attack against this flame-haired malevolence.

Astarte singularly ignored Eric's sniveling at that point. Instantaneously she turned a warm, sly smile on his two companions. Multiple noticeably gulped. Intrigued, Astarte stepped over Magneto and paused less than a foot away from the tall, broad-shouldered mutant. She looked him up and down sternly with great diligence, as if she was perusing a horse or cow she wanted to buy. What she saw must have amused her, for her voice was much less thunderous as she spoke to him, "My host has no recollection of you, and therefore you must not have met. What do you call yourself?"

"James Maddrox, ma'am," he all but saluted her, "or Multiple, whatever you prefer." Astarte raised an eyebrow at that, silently requesting an explanation. "Err," Multiple continued, "I can make copies of myself. There are a couple of me outside now, keeping watch on the street."

"Outstanding," crooned Astarte, touching Multiple's stomach with the flat of her palm. He froze under her familiar touch, pressing his lips together tightly. Her hand was warm, her pretty face turned up to his as she said, "I am sure I can find a plethora of uses for one such as you." Multiple gulped again, not knowing what to say or how to take this strange woman.

Astarte did not care what Multiple thought. Her attention had already moved on. "Pyro," she sighed, locking stares with the other firefly. Astarte passed Magneto once more, approaching Pyro without even glancing down at Eric. She held Pyro's gaze as she stood mere inches from him. She raised a hand to brush the side of John's cheek, but he flinched away from her. Astarte laughed hollowly.

"I know all about you, Pyro. I know that Blaze seduced you, only to make you look like a fool as she used you to spy on your own comrades. Still, you desire this body even as you detest Blaze for what she did." Pyro said nothing to deny the allegation; he merely pressed his lips together and glared at her. Astarte moved to press her point home. She leaned up against him, standing on her tiptoes to whisper sweet, warm breath onto his neck. "You should know that Blaze is no longer in control of this form…"

Astarte's words hung in the air, part temptation, part threat. She pulled away from him, meeting his eyes as she did so. His sullen gaze departed, and a look of avarice welled up to replace it. Astarte risked a thin smile, knowing she had the measure of the boy. He was sold there and then, but Magneto still had questions.

"What's in it for us?" he gasped, rocking back onto his haunches and gathering up the folds of his cloak. Astarte did not look impressed. "Pick him up," she ordered Pyro and Multiple, who obediently obliged. Without a word of explanation, Astarte ripped open Magneto's shirt, leaving his aging torso bare. Smoothly, almost tenderly, she ran her fingers through the grey hair on his chest, reaching up and around the back of his neck. Something in her stern gaze prevented Magneto from saying or doing anything as she stepped in close to him. He felt the cold press of the stone on her belt against his unprotected belly.

Immediately a sensation akin to being kicked in the stomach by a rampaging stallion left him gasping for breath. Pyro and Multiple braced themselves to keep Magneto upright as he sagged in their grip. Astarte stepped back to reveal an x-shaped, bloodless cut approximately thirty centimeters in diameter across Magneto's stomach.

"Now you are Jaffa," Astarte announced grandly, as though she had done him some great favour. "Into the pouch in your belly I will place an infant Goa'uld. It will be dormant; you need not worry that it will affect your mind or control you as I am controlling Blaze. Your body and mind will remain your own. However, in return for carrying the infant, the Goa'uld will strengthen you beyond all human capabilities. It will enable you to heal grievous injuries, and resist diseases. Jaffa also experience grossly extended life expectancy and reduced aging. As a Jaffa, Magneto, you will live for many tens if not hundreds more years. You will live to see the rise of mutants over base-line humans, and you shall enjoy the fruits of your labours, your life's work. Does that appeal to you? Have we a bargain, my new First Prime?"

Magneto did not trust this woman, this thing that claimed to be in possession of Blaze's body. Yet as he met her steely eyes and could make out no deception in her gaze, he allowed himself a moment's indulgence. The offer of near immortality to an old, old man was too sweet a prize. Slowly he nodded in acceptance of her deal. For a time at least, he would serve Astarte as her First Prime.

A/N: The device Astarte used on Magneto is based on the one Hathor used on Jack O'Neill in season one of Stargate SG1. The information on Astarte/Ashtoreth is taken from 'Ancient Egypt Myth and History' by Geddes and Grosset. Astarte is mentioned in the Bible in Judges 2:13 and 1 Samuel 31:10. See, I did research and everything!!!


	12. Chapter 12

**Disclaimer:** I own nothing, nada, zip. My OCs own me.

**12**

_Arista's Apartment, 16th arrondissement, Paris_

Pyro awoke later on, alone in Astarte's bed. The apartment was deathly silent around him. He sat up, rubbing sleep from his eyes, the bed sheets a tangled vipers nest around his body. He extracted himself after a brief struggle and pulled on a dark blue bathrobe that was waiting on a chair. Once descent, he straightened his bed-head hair and wend in search for companionship.

There was no sign of Arista, Magneto or Multiple, but Pyro quickly found Astarte. She was seated on the edge of a white roll-top bath, clothed in the same white dress as before. Her eyes were closed and she trailed her hand in the water of the bath. The water frothed and seethed, alive with squirming, vile black creatures. Infant Goa'uld, Pyro realised as his stomach churned, offspring of Astarte.

"Is that what you look like, underneath?" he asked impolitely. His intimacy with Astarte made him brash. "Yes," Astarte replied, her voice deep. As she opened her eyes they flashed briefly yellow. "When do I get one?" Pyro asked. Whilst the sight of the Goa'ulds made him queasy, he like Magneto relished the chance of having perfect health and extra long life.

"When they are mature enough for implantation," Astarte replied bluntly. There was nothing Pyro could say to that, so he tried to change the subject. "You know the X-Men are gonna come after you for taking Blaze?"

"I would expect nothing else," Astarte replied. "What makes you think that I am not counting on it? Indeed your comrades Magneto and Multiple are with Arista at this instant, launching an attack that cannot fail to arrest the attention of my enemies."

"Why?" Pyro was shocked. "They'll attack us!"

"No, they will not," explained Astarte. "They will attempt to negotiate. Do not underestimate the hold I have over them; the perfect hostage who never leaves my side." She stood gracefully, pausing nonchalantly to shake out her skirts. "Do not concern yourself Pyro, things are well under control. Have a little faith in your goddess."

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

_USAF 'plane, approaching Roissy-Charles-de-Gaulle airport _

"Are we there yet?" moaned Colonel Mitchell for the eighteenth time that hour. Carter replied wearily, "Not yet Cam, but soon." For a moment it was quiet, before Mitchell asked again, "Are we there yet?"

"Chill homme," muttered Gambit under his breath. He put away his cards ready for the landing and rested his hands on the armrests. In the large cream leather seat next to Gambit, Storm smiled patiently. She patted Remy's hand to commend him for his good behaviour. Suddenly, the voice of the pilot resonated through the cabin over the PA system.

"Sirs, we've received an urgent transmission from Base. They say to tell you that there has been some sore of terrorist attack in Paris. No details yet, but it looks like the US Embassy has been hit…"

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

_U.S. Embassy, __2, rue St. Florentin, Paris_

As the X-Men and SG1 arrived at the Embassy, the scene was close to carnage. Smoke, debris and screams of the injured or bereaved billowed into the atmosphere. The sun was setting in a blood red sky, and the streetlights were winking on all around them like amber warning lights. Combined with the multitude of pulsating beacons atop police, fire and ambulance vehicles, the whole scene was akin to a perverse Vegas mock-up. The stench was of dust, crumbled mortar and sundered block work.

Colonel Mitchell's feet crunched over broken glass as he approached the flapping plastic of the police cordon. Even the military man felt sick as paramedics came out of the wrecked building baring an orange stretcher. One of them held a plastic oxygen mask over the face of the victim, a woman in her forties. She was breathing, but barely, as blood oozed from more injuries than Mitchell cared to count. She was in the back of an ambulance and being driven away before it had sunk in for Mitchell that she had lost her legs in the attack.

"This can't be coincidence," Carter tried to rationalize as she looked up at the building. It had imploded, the roof falling in on the workers below. Fire crews were spraying down the building with water from a pair of long ladders, damping down the dust and trying to prevent any fires. The police were backing away the ever-growing crowd of bloodthirsty camera crews and journalists.

"What do you think?" Storm asked Gambit quietly, away from the SG team.

"I t'ink Magneto bin playin' a game o' Kerplunk," Remy replied dryly, kicking a suspiciously neatly stacked pile of iron girders. Storm nodded, biting her lip. She had come to the same conclusion. The girders that supported the structure of the Embassy building had been tactically removed through the walls, causing the roof and uppermost storeys to fall in. "An' if Magneto's here," concluded Gambit, "den we got big problems, non?"

"Astarte is recruiting from amongst the Brotherhood," Ororo ceded. "I don't like this at all."

"There not'ing we can do here," Gambit pointed out. "We should get a shift on, see if we can track Astarte and ole Eric down."

"Get a shift on?" Storm gave a wan smile, "that's a very Blaze expression, Gambit."

"Huh," Remy snorted humourlessly, "as if my accent ain't bad enough, now I'm comin' over all Mancunian. C'mon, let's go Chere. If SG1 wanna join us, dat's up to them."

"Okay," Storm agreed, "lead on, Remy, lead on."

Across by the police line, Daniel was speaking in broken French to a police official. None of the other SG1 members seemed to know what to do. Carter and Mitchell tried to help with first aid, but had been sent back behind the police line. This was a crime scene now; outsiders might interfere with the forensics. SG1 had no choice but to back off. In the midst if the chaos, it was Teal'c who spotted two figures leaving the scene.

"Colonel Mitchell, it appears that Storm and Gambit are leaving. Should we not be in pursuit?"

"Alright," Mitchell called to Daniel, "Jackson, let's go!"

"Merci, au revoir," Daniel shook hands with the French policeman and followed SG1, who were already heading out. "Hey guys, I know my French is a little rusty, but I'm fairly certain the police are looking for a man in a cape, wearing some kind of metal hat-thing."

"No kidding your French is rusty," Mitchell joked humourlessly.

"At least, I think that's what he said," Daniel admitted, not rising to Mitchell's bating. "Where are we going anyway?" All five team members looked blankly from one to the other. It was clear none of them knew where they were headed. Carter cleared her throat, "I'll go ask, shall I?" No one voiced an objection, so Carter set off at a jog to catch the X-Men up. "Guys, we need to know where exactly it is you're taking us?"

"You're in luck, Cherie," Gambit smarmed. "Dis boy's takin' you to the hottest nightclub in town…"


	13. Chapter 13

**Disclaimer:** I own nothing, nada, zip. My OCs own me. 

**13**

_Arista's nightclub, __quai de la Loire, 19th arrondissement_

They reached the nightclub approximately the same time of evening as Blaze had several days ago. There was a queue to gain entry, but it wasn't long. The seven or eight small groups lined up neatly behind a blue velvet rope attached to stainless steel posts. The bouncer on the door wore a sharp satin suit and carried a clipboard. Overhead the sky was ominous with dark clouds, making the night muggy and promising rain later. From inside the club, music could be heard pounding relentlessly. All of this Gambit sized up from just around the corner on the other side of the street. 

"Wait here," he told the others. Without a word of explanation he stepped out from the side of the building. Gambit swaggered straight up to the bouncer in the door, ignoring the protests of the queue of revelers. "Remy le Beau, here to see Arista," he announced in English. 

"You're not on the list," replied Multiple, whilst staring Gambit down and not even glancing at the clipboard he held. 

"You sure?" questioned Remy. In a snap reflex he grabbed hold of the clipboard with two hands. Instinctively Multiple pulled the clipboard back, ripping it out of the Cajun's fingertips. Gambit dived to his right, forcing back the queue of clubbers. Multiple had barely a second to register that the clipboard was glowing orange before the plastic and paper exploded. The Brotherhood crony was blown backwards through the frosted glass double doors or the club. He hit the glossy hallway and skidded on his rump, falling back and hitting the deck. Ten seconds later, the Multiple clone had vanished completely. 

Standing up and brushing down his trench coat, Gambit graced the shocked people from the line with a charming smile. He stepped to the clubs doorway and opened it, saying, "Apres vous." Recovering their sensibilities, the civilians stood slowly, before turning and running in the opposite direction. Gambit was nonplussed as Storm and SG1 joined him.

"That was impressive," Mitchell acknowledged, "stupid, risky, but impressive all the same."

"Keep talkin' homme," droned Remy, "you be de next one I explode." Teal'c stepped forward and positioned himself between Mitchell and Gambit, looking down on the Cajun with a look of contempt. Gambit responded in typical fashion, reaching inside his coat pocket and withdrawing a seven of clubs. 

"Gambit, stop that," ordered Storm. "Let's not forget why we're here." Gambit held his position, facing off with Teal'c for slightly longer than was strictly clever. Eventually though he did what he was told and put the card away. Teal'c turned to Storm and inclined his head respectfully. She flashed a small smile of apology for Gambit's actions, and indicated with her head to the door of the club, "Shall we?"

"After you," Mitchell generously allowed as he checked the clip of his handgun. Carter and Daniel were abruptly also armed with handguns, whilst Teal'c and Vala carried strange, grey weapons like snakes coiled into a compact 'S' shape. They were called zats, but Storm did not know this. She was only abruptly aware of the very real danger Blaze was in, and that she and Gambit had brought this menace upon their friend. She traded a brief glance with Gambit, and then the two X-Men turned to walk through the club doors.

Inside was dark, and full of noise and movement. Strobe lights flashed, music throbbed, and as Storm inhaled she smelt crass perfume, body odour and spilt alcohol; the unequivocal stench of a nightclub. She imagined that by the end of the night it would smell much worse, adding vomit and many other bodily fluids she preferred not to think about to the mix. How anyone could think places like this were fun, she could not understand. 

Gambit meanwhile was so at home in nightclubs, bars and the like, he could have been born in one. His red-on-black eyes scanned the crowd dispassionately, looking for anyone familiar or anything unusual. As he watched, a feminine figure in a long, pale blue silk dress and beehive hair crossed the hall and paused to talk to the Multiple clones stationed at the bottom of the marble staircase. One of the Multiples said something that made her glance over towards the door. Gambit recognised her instantly. 

"Arista!" he hollered above the drone of the incessant music. Remy started forwards, but Arista was already turning away and gracefully ascending the stairs. "Arista!" he tried again, eliciting no response. SG1 and Storm followed Gambit to the foot of the stairs, only to have their way blocked by the Multiples. "Members only," was the response from the left-hand Multiple, whilst the one on the right looked smug. Teal'c stepped forward, sizing both Multiples up. Mitchell followed, not wanting to be left out of the action. In less than three seconds Teal'c had dispatched the right-hand Multiple, and five seconds after that Mitchell had laid his opponent out on the floor. The bodies shimmered, and then disappeared. Carter looked to Storm, "Mutants?"

"Multiple," Storm explained, "a mutant terrorist working with the Brotherhood of Mutants. There will be more of him, there always is." Before anyone could think of anything to say to that, Gambit was past Teal'c and jogging up the stairs. Teal'c, Mitchell and Daniel followed with the women bringing up the rear. Arista had already disappeared, but in the plus side there were no more Multiples. Through another set of double doors, this time padded with purple velveteen, before the rescue party was forced to pull up short. They were in a marble foyer, decorated with Romanesque columns ands friezes, and maybe fifteen feet square. At the far side was another set of purple doors. Between them and the doorway was the most feared mutant on the planet, Magneto.

"Hey," said Daniel, pointing at Magneto and looking around, "man in a cape!"

"Man in a cape wearing a metal-hat-thing," elaborated Vala. Mitchell shook his head; this was all getting a little too weird. 

"What are you doing here Eric?" Storm asked the Master of Magnetism coldly, "and whilst we're at it, why did you attack the US Embassy?"

"My dear Ororo, do you really expect me to stand here monologuing, telling you all my darkest schemes and intimate liaisons?" replied Magneto fluidly. "What kind of comic book villain do you take me for?"

"We ain't interested in your scheming, Magneto," Remy pouted, "an' we definitely don't wanna know 'bout your intimate liaisons. How about you jus' tell us where Blaze is, an' I won't blow you to Hell?"

"Your arrogance always amazes me, boy," Magneto chuckled. "Suffice to say, Blaze's body is here," he waved a hand at the door behind him. "Where here mind is, I can honestly say I have no idea. Now I'm supposed to delay you here, to make you work for an audience with the supposed goddess with whom I am currently employed. The truth is that you are expected, and you are already late, so I will allow you passage."

"Very generous of you," retorted Mitchell. A glower from Magneto made the Colonel amend his statement, "Sir."

"You won't mind of course if I relieve you of your weapons," continued Eric. At once he lifted his palms and SG1's weapons extracted themselves from the Air Force personnel. Every member of SG1 visibly baulked as the guns and zats hovered in mid-air, before turning on their axis to face their owners. There was a disconcerting moment as the safeties knocked themselves off the 9mms and the zats charged up, before Magneto spoke again. "Empty your pockets, Gambit, or your new friends will die." 

Gambit hesitated, then began to remove deck after deck of cards from the inside pockets of his trench coat. He tossed them on the floor at Magneto's feet. Remy considered charging one, and trying to take out Magneto right here, right now. The Master of Magnetism was not easily fooled. 

"Don't even think about charging any of them," Magneto cautioned Gambit. "And don't make me search you either."

"Dat's everyt'ing," Gambit admitted, holding up his empty hands. 

"Very good," praised Magneto. "You may pass." The X-Men and SG1 moved forwards, only for Magneto to correct his statement. Two floating 9mms pressed themselves against the temples of Vala and Daniel. "Except for you two," Magneto instructed. "Ororo, if I even feel so much as a lukewarm draft, never mind the full wrath of the tempest, they will die. Is that clear?"

"It's clear," Storm agreed, lifting her hand to halt Teal'c as the Jaffa started forward in protest. "We won't cause any trouble; we just want to see Blaze."

"Let's go," Mitchell instructed, eyeing Magneto distrustfully. "Jackson, we'll be right back okay?"

"Okay," Daniel agreed meekly, "have fun."

"Don't you go forgetting about us," laughed Vala nervously. Magneto smiled maliciously, looking properly proud of himself. The remaining five of the seven could do nothing except pass through the double doors, and enter Astarte's inner sanctum. 


	14. Chapter 14

Disclaimer: I own nothing, nada, zip

**Disclaimer:** I own nothing, nada, zip. My OCs own me.

**14**

_Arista's nightclub, quai de la Loire, 19th arrondissement_

With military precision, the five remaining team members pushed open the doors and strode into Arista's inner sanctum. The inner room was done out in the same Greco-Roman style as the foyer where Magneto lurked. Columns and friezes, statues and mosaics abounded. The lighting was subdued, coming mostly from a smattering of fires in wrought iron baskets atop pedestals. Here and there around the room there were arrangements of cushions, reclining chaise longues and benches draped in furs. The room had a distinct odour of jasmine and ylang ylang, overly sweet and cloying, as though someone was burning oils.

Multiple was plentiful, lurking behind pillars or lounging in the seating arrangements. Fawning over him and each other were Arista's girls. The beauties were of every ethnicity under the sun, from wide-eyed, chic Caucasian, graceful and mysterious Asian and buxom, pouting Black. They were everywhere, watching the newcomers with soulless stares that sent a shiver up Sam Carter's innocent spine.

In the centre of the room, atop a small flight of marble steps, a Chinese girl of about sixteen or seventeen was massaging sweet oil into the dainty feet and ankles of a woman in white. The woman reclined in the arms of her bare-chested lover, their mouths locked in a deep kiss. His hands explored her bare back, whilst she ran her fingers carelessly through his blond hair. Mitchell was in no doubt that this was the Goa'uld, and that this brazen exhibitionism was purely for the benefit of SG1 and their mutant acquaintances. He cleared his throat, "Astarte, I presume?"

Slowly, the woman extracted herself from her lover, sitting upright and turning towards the rescue party. The masseuse recoiled, cleaning her hands on a towel before bringing the woman's sandals. Her lover propped himself up on an elbow, but remained reclining. Next to Mitchell, Gambit tensed and took half a step forward as he recognised Pyro. At that movement, the woman looked up for the first time.

Her pretty face was stern, framed by stray red curls that had come loose from her ornate hairstyle. Her brown eyes flashed yellow, and there could be no more doubt that a Goa'uld had taken over this mutant's body. Mitchell belatedly realised that without weapons, and with Daniel and Vala being held hostage, this mutant could kill them all in seconds. This whole plan had been fatally flawed from the start.

"Ah," began Astarte, her deep voice resonating in the potent silence of the upper room. "At least the rescuers are arrived. Waiting for you had become quite tedious."

"You knew we were coming?" asked Storm.

"Ha," Astarte almost laughed. Smoothly she stood and descended the steps down to the floor. All eyes in the room were on the Goa'uld as she walked right up to Storm and placed the back of her hand on Ororo's cheek, gently caressing her skin. "Sweet Ororo, I know a great deal about SG1. They have plagued my race almost into oblivion. Thanks to my host, I also know everything about the X-Men, and indeed the Brotherhood of Mutants. I know everything about you, Storm, everything. To have power over the forces of nature; truly you are a goddess-born…"

Storm reached up and batted Astarte's hand away. "What have you done with Blaze?" she demanded.

"She is here, hidden and protected," crooned Astarte, "isn't that exactly what your friend needs? She does have a penchant for disaster. I can cease all that."

"By living her life for her," Storm riled, "no, that's not how it should be."

"Then how should it be Ororo?" Astarte replied. "Even if you could remove me from this body against my will and without killing my host, have SG1 told you what would happen to me? I cannot live without a host. I will die, as the genocidal maniacs of Stargate Command intend. I am thousands of years old, and having lived so long I have knowledge that has been granted to very few. SG1 would destroy me out of hatred for a species that is merely different to their own. Isn't that exactly the kind of prejudice that the X-Men are fighting against? To stop the oppression of those who were born different? To promote inter-species harmony?"

"Don't listen to her Storm," Mitchell cautioned. "She's the oppressor here, not us."

"There has to be another way," Storm pleaded.

"Perhaps there is," replied Astarte. "Would you give your body, your powers and your life willingly to me, in return for Blaze's release as my host?"

"If you know anything about me," Storm replied fiercely, "you know I would."

"Storm, no!" Teal'c objected, whilst Gambit echoed the Jaffa.

"Non Cherie! Blaze's powers are one t'ing, but wit' you she'd be unstoppable!"

Astarte chuckled dryly to herself at the thought, whilst sharply turning to pin Gambit with a powerful stare. Gambit refused to flinch, even when Astarte walked right up to him, encroaching into his personal space. It was gut-clenchingly painful for him to see Blaze's familiar face full of emotions she never possessed; cold mockery and uttermost superiority.

"Precious Remy," Astarte tormented him, cupping his unshaven chin in one hand. She brushed her warm palm over his stubble, and then wrapped her arms around his neck. She pulled his head forwards and whispered quietly in his left ear. Astarte's words were for the Cajun alone, though Carter, Mitchell and Storm all strained to hear them. They had to be content to watch as Gambit's face darkened unpleasantly. Whatever she asked him was obviously difficult for him to refuse, as Storm recognised the shadow of dilemma pass over him. Slowly Gambit shook his head, "Je regrete…"

"Chova!" swore Astarte, her face turning like thunder.

"What does that mean?" bated Storm, pleased that Astarte was not getting things all her own way.

"It means 'traitor'," Teal'c translated. He was flabbergasted to hear someone else called by that name. The Goa'uld had been calling him a chova since he joined SG1 and betrayed Apophas.

"Jaffa!" Astarte called as she moved back from the group, "Cree!" All around the room the effect was instantaneous. Pyro leapt to his feet and came to Astarte's side. The Multiples moved to stand to attention, blocking the exits. Yet it was Arista's girls who encroached on SG1 and the X-Men. With faces devoid of expression, the girls cut in and around the rescue party. They split the group up, separating the bewildered Teal'c and Storm from Mitchell, Carter and Gambit. Several Multiples moved in to pin Teal'c's massive arms, whilst two more were dispatched to deal with Storm. The girls formed a human shield between Astarte and the remaining rescuers. Astarte did not even glance back in disgust as she and Pyro turned to march from the room, leaving by a back door.

Teal'c and Storm found themselves bundled after Astarte by their Multiple captors. They followed Astarte and Pyro down a back fire escape to an alleyway that smelt of cats. Astarte turned to Pyro, tossing him an orb of surging flame as though it were a tennis ball. "Torch it," she ordered him grimly.

"What?" Pyro hesitated, "but… the girls…" He looked up at the building, not quite horror-struck but close to it. Astarte merely growled at him.

"They are willing to give their lives for their goddess, and they will be rewarded in the afterlife. Burn it."

"You're the boss," Pyro admitted, raising his arms and blasting the club with flame. The fire charged up the stairwell and filled the building with smoke. At the same time, Astarte used Blaze's powers to explode the flaming torches that had illuminated the upper audience chamber. There was screaming now from inside the building. Teal'c and Storm riled against the Multiples, but got nowhere. Astarte closed her eyes and turned her powers onto the building's gas mains. There was a smile of malice on her face as a series of booming explosions made the ground shake. Then, with the building fully ablaze and the screaming drowned out by the approaching sirens, Astarte turned and walked nonchalantly away, followed by her minions.


	15. Chapter 15

Disclaimer: I own nothing, nada, zip

**Disclaimer:** I own nothing, nada, zip. My OCs own me.

**15**

_Arista's nightclub, quai de la Loire, 19th arrondissement_

Inside the smouldering building, smoke clouded Carter's vision and made her gag on the thick air. Instinctively remembering her training, she dropped to her hands and knees and began to crawl. She couldn't see where the door was, but unless she had been unwittingly turned around when the first explosions of fire had gone off, it should be somewhere behind her. She grimaced, blinking back tears as the smoke got in her eyes and trying to shake what she had just seen from her mind. Some of the girls had gone to close the door behind Astarte. They had been turned in an instant to cinders and ash. The screams of the dying would haunt Sam for the rest of her days, of that she had no doubt.

Mitchell and Gambit joined Carter on the stairwell, where the smoke lifted briefly so that she could witness the horror on their faces. They didn't say anything to comfort each other as they headed downstairs. The fire burned heavier here, and they had to drop to their knees again and crawl. The floor was treacherous, littered with dropped drinks, abandoned shoes, and the occasional charred body part. Carter could feel the bile rising as finally Mitchell hauled her to her feet and pushed her through the front door. Fresh air hit her like a barrage, and for a moment it was all she could do to gulp it in through nose and mouth. Tears streamed from her red and ash-filled eyes. She was filthy and her cheek was burned and blistering, but she was just glad to be alive.

Fortunately as the emergency services responded to the second disaster of the evening, it seemed most of the revellers had managed to get out alive. Paramedics applied field dressings to burns and treated people for smoke inhalation and shock. Firemen set up hoses and turned them on the building. Gambit took all this in blindly, before locking eyes with a familiar face across the chaos. Arista blinked, then jumped to her feet and barged her way through the exclaiming paramedics who had been treating her. Throwing all caution to the wind, Arista ran.

"Arista!" hollered Gambit, before turning to his companions, "c'mon, we gotta follow her!"

"I'm not leaving Jackson and Vala," argued Mitchell, pointing to where his team mates were being interviews by the police. Gambit took one look at them and balked.

"Homme, I know a t'ing or two about de French police," he told Mitchell flatly. "They gonna arrest your friends and worry 'bout the rest later. There no U.S. Embassy, remember, how long you t'ink dat gonna take? Meanwhile our only lead on Astarte is runnin' away."

Mitchell didn't like the situation one bit. It was spiralling totally out of control. He didn't want to leave Daniel and Vala behind, but at the same time Teal'c was in the hands of a maniacal Goa'uld. This was supposed to have been a simple seek and destroy mission that was now descending into a farce. "Aww hell," he griped, and broke into a run. Carter and Gambit followed without hesitation.

Arista was cutting through alleyways and narrow streets, trying to lose her pursuers. One of her shoes came off early on, her stiletto heel catching in a metal grate. Running one shoe on, one shoe off was only slowing her down, so she kicked her other Jimmy Choo into the gutter and carried on barefoot. Her beehive hair dishevelled and disintegrated, getting in her mouth as she gasped for breath. She dared not look back to see if Gambit and his friends were gaining on her. Like a wild animal hunted by a pack of dogs, she knew that if she so much as hesitated they would be on her.

Mitchell prided himself on being physically fit. Okay he wasn't quite as muscle-bound as Teal'c, but he knew his way around the SGC's gym. He liked to run too; liked the competition with himself to run faster, further, harder than ever before. The kick of adrenaline as he realised they were closing the gap surprised him. It was something primal, even vicious about the chase. The thudding of his heartbeat was echoed by the pounding of Gambit and Carter's feet behind him. It was a torrid rhythm that said Arista's time was nearly up.

Like a cheetah overpowering an exhausted gazelle, Mitchell rounded a corner and reached out to grab Arista. The fugitive cried out meekly, dragged back by Mitchell's unrelenting grip on her arm. That same instant, Gambit arrived like a charging rhino. He ripped Arista free of Mitchell and plastered the Madame to the wall behind her. Pinning Arista by the throat, Gambit raised his fist ominously. Mitchell barely reacted in time, grabbing the Cajun's clenched fist before he could punch the quivering, breathless wreck before him. Cam grimaced as he tried to physically lower Remy's fist.

"Gambit, c'mon man, I can't let you hit a lady."

"D'accord," spat Gambit, not lowering his arm but at least loosening his grip on Arista's throat so she could breathe, "but she ain't a lady."

"You're hardly the model gentleman, Remy," croaked Arista, flaring her nostrils as she gasped for breath. Carter, who had fallen behind the men when running, now arrived. She looked from Gambit to Arista as Mitchell scowled. Sam turned to Gambit, "You know this woman?"

"For the last time," groaned Remy, "she ain't a woman. For a start she's a man, and the treacherous, lyin' toad who sold out Blaze to the Goa-whatever."

"Goa'uld," corrected Arista coldly, "and why shouldn't I, Remy? D'you think I should've had some sentimental attachment to the pair of you because I knew you way back when you were nothin' but a skinny boy and a slip of a girl, full of your own self-importance? I work for the highest bidder, Gambit, and Astarte offered me exactly what I wanted. If Blaze was the price, so be it."

"Can we have a rain-check here?" Mitchell interrupted. "Astarte's left you high and dry. Your club's destroyed, the police are probably after you, and Astarte is long gone by now. I don't think you're getting paid."

A look of horror passed over Arista's face, and suddenly she looked every one of her fifty-two years. Carter felt a wash of sympathy for the Madame. This is what it felt like when you found out a Goa'uld could not be trusted. Taking a risk, Sam asked gently, "What did she promise you?"

"My health, my life," Arista murmured, closing her eyes. She took a deep shuddering breath. Gambit let her go, lowered his arms to his sides and stepped back behind Carter. After a moment, Arista started to explain. "I'm dying. It's AIDS. I'd like to pretend it was from a blood transfusion or somethin' but we all know it ain't. I thought Astarte was my trump card, my second chance. Guess I don't deserve one after all."

"Astarte doesn't care about you, or anyone," Carter took Arista's hand. "She's pure evil. We have to stop her, and you're our last chance. This is your opportunity to put some of this right, get back some of your dignity."

Arista sniffed, and wiped her brow with the back of her free hand. She looked anything but dignified, but she met Carter's gaze squarely and slowly nodded. She respected that Carter hadn't tried to make a deal, hadn't lied by saying she could get Arista out of this mess and help her escape prosecution for her crimes. Arista knew that she would go to jail for the rest of her life for the events of the past few weeks. But damn it, Astarte would not get away with leaving Arista to take all the shit in her place. If all Arista had left was the ability to bring the heavens crashing down on this supposed goddess, then that was what she was going to do.

"Alright," Arista agreed hesitantly, "heck, why not? Throw in a bottle of good vin rouge and I'll tell you all I know."

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

A little while later Mitchell, Carter and Gambit called a council of war on the banks of the Seine. Carter was the first to point out that they were going to need a plane.

"The SGC has been compromised," Mitchell pointed out. "If we call in, Astarte will know we survived the fire and are on our way."

"Ne worry pas," Gambit shrugged, pulling out a silver clamshell cell phone marked with an 'X'. "I'll hitch us a ride." Carter and Mitchell exchanged glances as Remy walked a small distance away and put the phone to his ear.

"Hey Logan, c'est moi. Get off de phone an' put your better half on, homme." For a moment there was silence, and then, "Ilehana, ma tres belle cherie, Gambit ever tell you what a pleasure it is to hear your voice?" Gambit paused, and then chuckled at the response from the other end of the line. "D'accord, so how you fixed for an airlift? Me plus two. Oui, tres bien. Merci beaucoup Chere, au revoir." Gambit snapped the phone shut and returned is to a pocket.

"And?" asked Carter.

"Dey on their way," Remy replied. "It's time to show you military types that we mutants travel in style."

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Alone in her apartment, seated in her throne in front of the cold fireplace and with an empty bottle of vin de pays by her side, Arista took a silver colt .45 and put the barrel in her mouth. The crack of the gun going off scared the pigeons that were roosting on the roof of the building into flight, filling the air with feathers and filth.


	16. Chapter 16

**Disclaimer:** I own nothing, nada, zip. My OCs own me.

**16**

_Cheyenne Mountain Air Force Base, Colorado Springs, USA_

The sun was shining cheerfully above Cheyenne Mountain, home of the SGC. The trees, dazzling in their finest emerald foliage, rustled in the nippy breeze. The air was scented with a blend of diesel fumes from the military vehicles and the subtler fragrance of chlorophyll and earth from the trees. Behind the tall fence and the armed watchtowers, USAF personnel marched ever backwards and forwards in front of the base's main entrance. Whilst obviously military, the base hardly appeared top secret. No casual glance would realise that instead of equipment for studying deep-space telemetry, this facility contained a device capable of intergalactic travel.

The choice of location for the Stargate was not to Astarte's taste. She would much rather the gate resided in a massive temple, grandiose and awe-inspiring, as befitted this device of power. Yet it was encouraging to know that breaching the SGC's defences had been proven to be nigh impossible. Unless of course you had someone on the inside…

Astarte, Magneto, Teal'c, Storm, several Multiples and a Pyrex vat of juvenile symbiotes were seated in the back of a nondescript USAF truck. Pyro and another Multiple were in the vehicle's cab, dressed in military uniforms. The equipment had been provided by Magneto's right-hand creature, the woman called Mystique. The paperwork Pyro handed over at the checkpoint into the base was official, signed by Landry himself. The sentry on duty did not even bother to check the back of the truck. Astarte smiled a thin smile as these foolish humans let her and her cronies drive right into the SGC.

Once inside the fun started. Multiple restrained Storm and Teal'c whilst Astarte, Magneto and Pyro let rip in the loading bay. Magneto warped the adjacent security systems, whilst Pyro and Astarte teamed up to fling fire and brimstone into every corner of the bay. Shots were fired by the defending airmen, only for Magneto to stop the rain of bullets with a wave of his hand. Finally there was only one air force representative left, and he hand just downed one of his own side with a series of slick kung-fu manoeuvres. Looking up to meet Astarte's disparaging gaze, this man gave a scowling smile and strode across the room to join the Goa'uld and the Brotherhood. As he walked, his uniform fell away and a seductive blue-skinned shape shifter appeared.

"My Goddess," Magneto announced, "May I present Mystique?" Astarte and Raven Darkholme eyed each other distrustfully.

"I love what you've done with Blaze's hair," Mystique mocked.

"Bah!" scoffed Astarte, turning back to Magneto. "You know what to do."

"Indeed," agreed Magneto. He waved a hand at Mystique, who slipped casually into General Landry's form. They had their foothold, now to take over the rest of the SGC.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Down in the Gate Room, the real General Landry had his hands tied behind his back with plastic binds. He stood waiting alone with all his personnel including his daughter, watching as that dratted shape shifter turned into Walter the gate technician and started tampering with the dialling computer. The hand-scanning security device, installed to prevent something like this from happening, was easily fooled. The Stargate itself, a great grey ring marked with strange alien symbols, started whirring into life.

With a sonic boom, the blue wormhole plunged like water out of the Gate towards the waiting prisoners. The wormhole then fell back and the event horizon settled into a pool of blue light. Landry found himself herded forwards towards the Gate by the armed Multiple clones that surrounded them. They had no choice but to pass through the Gate onto a strange planet not of their choosing.

With the SGC personnel dealt with, Astarte could turn her attention to the two prisoners she had brought from Paris. Teal'c and Storm had become a little fractious during the fight with the SGC staff. Magneto had obligingly pinned Teal'c's arms to his sides with crushing rings of recycled steel. Such binds would not have stopped Storm, but the moment her eyes turned white and the air began to whip around her playfully, Mystique had grabbed Ororo in a vice-like grip around her neck. The pressure point Mystique applied made Storm black out instantaneously.

By the time Ororo awoke, she was imprisoned in a dark, windowless concrete cell with only Teal'c for company. Somehow Ororo managed to get her limbs to respond and she forced herself up into a sitting position on the floor. At that moment Astarte entered the cell.

"It will do you no good to interrogate us," Teal'c said. "We will reveal nothing."

"I would expect nothing less," Astarte replied. "However I have not brought you here to extract information."

"Then why have you brought us here?" asked Teal'c.

"Teal'c, these new Jaffa warriors of mine will require a mentor. They know nothing of the ways of Jaffa and Goa'uld. Once my offspring are ready for implantation, Magneto and the others will need to learn of kel-na-reem. More importantly they will need to know the correct ways to serve their god. You will teach them all they need to know."

"What if I refuse?" Teal'c asked.

"For every request you refuse me," Astarte said. "One member of the SGC will be tortured until death. Their dismembered body will be returned through the Stargate from my off-world prison, and strung up in the gate room as a reminder of what happens to those who are impertinent to their goddess. I will begin with General Landry, so I would suggest that you do not disobey me Teal'c."

"What about me?" said Storm.

"You, Storm, are my insurance. You will provide me with a spare host should this one be compromised. I am also greatly intrigued by your powers. As soon as I have the time, I intend to use this facility's underwhelming and primitive equipment to study you. However, in the meanwhile I cannot have you bringing down the fury of the tempest upon us all."

Opening her palm, Astarte revealed a tiny, thumb-tack sized device that blinked blue and red. She took the push-pin between thumb and forefinger, as two Multiples appeared to hold Storm still. Storm struggled, but she was held firm. Astarte approached and pushed the device onto the side of Storm's left temple. Storm shuddered, gasped, then as Multiple let go of her she collapsed to the floor in distress. Astarte smiled as Storm clawed frantically at the tiny device that has negated her powers, but Ororo could not remove it.

"That's better," Astarte told Storm. Teal'c, his arms still bound in steel, glared at the Goa'uld but could do nothing to aid Ororo. "Don't try and remove it," Astarte informed them both. "You will not be able to. I will send for you when I require you."

Astarte left, sweeping out of the room with regal indifference to the woman she left suffering on the floor. Storm's world closed in around her as the cell door slammed closed. Claustrophobia and exhaustion, combined with the loss of her powers, left Storm an emotional wreck. She had not eaten or slept since the Professor had dispatched Gambit and herself to Cheyenne Mountain. With crossing the Atlantic twice in that time, she did not even know how long ago that had been. She did not even know if Gambit was still alive. Certainly they were no closer to rescuing Blaze. Darkness surrounded her as she wrapped her arms around herself, rocking backwards and forwards on her haunches. She could not take much more of this.

"Storm!" demanded Teal'c, his voice anxious. "Storm, you must get up. Listen to me, you must get up."

"I can't," Storm admitted, touching the device on her temple, "I can't."

"You must," Teal'c insisted. "Storm get up, now. Get up!" It was voiced as an order, First Prime to subservient soldier. It could not be disobeyed. Storm turned and looked at him, wondering if he knew how ridiculous he looked all pinned in metal hoops. Somehow she managed to get a proper focus on him, and she discovered the will to lever herself up off the cold floor to take a seat on the bench next to the Jaffa.

"Thank you," she said quietly. Teal'c inclined his head solemnly in reply. Ororo bit her lip, saying, "Now what do we do? It's hopeless."

"It is far from hopeless," Teal'c told her kindly. "In my many years with the Tarien, SG1 has been captured by the Goa'uld on an almost frequent basis. However in the end it is always we who are victorious."

Storm nodded, finding comfort in Teal'c assured words. She asked, "How did you come to be a member of SG1?"

"I would be pleased to tell you," Teal'c replied courteously, "If you would oblige me with a small favour first?" Storm frowned, what could he want from her? Teal'c shrugged in his metal bonds, demonstrating the confines of the rings. ""I have an itch that I am unable to reach." Storm smiled, and was happy to oblige.


	17. Chapter 17

**Disclaimer:** I own nothing, nada, zip. My OCs own me.

**A/N:** 'Astarte' has just topped out at 40 reviews, yay! Thank you so much to everyone for them, I really appreciate that you've taken the time out to comment on my ramblings. Special thanks to Rasa, Freegirl and Certh. However, here's a challenge for you. The most reviews I've ever had on a story is 60- can we beat it? Here's another chapter to see if we can! I apologise in advance if this chapter is rather giddy, I never thought I'd say this but I really have missed the X-Men so far in this story (yes, even Logan!). Hehe, Lamby...

**17**

_Jardin Atlantique__, Pont des Cinq-Martyrs-du-Lycée-Buffon, 19th arrondissement_

Whilst Astarte was ransacking the SGC, Gambit, Mitchell and Carter's ride arrived. The Blackbird approached under cloak, but the noise the invisible jet made was enough to rattle Mitchell's fillings. Not that Cam had any, or at least any he'd admit to. So what if he had a sweet tooth, he was a Kansas boy and his Grandma's home cookin' had been too good to refuse.

Once it had landed, the jet shimmered into existence. It was a black, sultry silhouette against the Parisian skyline. Gambit wasted no time in jogging up the gangway, so Carter and Mitchell followed him. They emerged into a brightly lit cabin, full of strangers dressed in black leather uniforms. Ever the pilot, Mitchell's eyes swept straight to the flight controls, and to the lean, leggy blonde with piercing blue eyes who swiveled her chair around to watch her passengers embark.

"Nice," Mitchell observed with a quick smile.

"Hey Bub," said the hairy Neanderthal who turned at the sound of Mitchell's appraisal of plane and pilot. Wolverine stood, cracking his neck loudly as he did so. "Take a seat."

"I was just sayin'…" Mitchell started to try and appease the feral.

"Cam," Carter interrupted, "just do as the man says."

Mitchell glanced back at her, expecting some support. As his back was turned there was a loud 'snickt' noise behind him. Mitchell took one look at Logan's adamantium claws, blanched and found a good excuse to sit down. Logan followed suit, collapsing into the co-pilot's chair as his claws withdrew. He risked a glance at Vixen, but the blonde didn't return it. Wolverine wasn't sure, but he suspected she was trying her best to control a grin. He shook his head as he joined her in the sequence of pre-flight checks.

With Carter sat down across the aisle from Mitchell, Gambit made the introductions quickly. "Colonels Mitchell an' Carter, meet Vixen, Wolverine, Iceman, Jubilee an' Shadowcat."

"Belt up for take off Gambit," Vixen announced, flicking switched and pressing buttons before taking hold of the controls with both hands.

"That includes your mouth Gumbo," added Logan unnecessarily. Remy mock-saluted the feral, and then flopped graceful as a cat into a seat behind Carter.

"Wait," Mitchell began, "you don't like this jerk either?"

"Maybe not," agreed Logan, "but he's our jerk. You, Bub, are just cargo. So can it, okay?"

"Yes sir," said Mitchell. There was blessed silence for a few minutes as the jet lifted off. Carter found herself crushed back against the sculpted seat as the G-forces of the steep ascent imposed themselves. When the jet finally leveled out, Carter cleared her throat to speak.

"Your cloaking technology is impressive, but you could use some inertial dampeners on an ascent like that."

"They're in pieces all over my lab," Vixen replied. "Someone," she glanced pointedly at Logan, "banked too steeply on maneuvers and blew a coil. I didn't have time to fix it, so you're getting a rough ride. My apologies."

"More fun this way anyway," grouched Wolverine.

"Wow, okay," Carter was impressed.

"Hey don't worry," Iceman chipped in, "you're with professionals now."

"That's obvious," Carter acknowledged. "Still, I thought you were all school teachers?"

"Bobby Drake," Iceman leaned across and offered Carter a hand to shake. "I teach computers."

"You wrote the coding system on your school's website?" Carter asked. Iceman nodded, smiling disarmingly. "Cool," said Carter. Bobby's smile became a grin and he shook Carter's hand firmly, half-freezing her fingers.

"Thanks. When we get Blaze back, you can tell her that. She thinks IT is for geeks."

Carter nodded, pulling back her numbed hand and rubbing her fingers until the feeling came back. "I hope I get that chance," she told Bobby solemnly.

"What happened anyway Gambit," Jubilee asked. "You were supposed to bring Blaze back from Paris. Now you've lost Storm as well?"

"I ain't lost 'em, I know exactly where dey are," protested Remy. "Cheyenne Mountain, Colorado Springs." Vixen nodded and inputted the course.

"Why was Blaze in Paris anyway?" Shadowcat asked, bewildered. "I, like, totally thought she was in Miami?"

"Just proves," Logan cut in, ignoring Kitty. "If you want a job done properly, don't send Gumbo."

"I don't have to listen to dis," Gambit said, rolling his red-on-black eyes in mock offense. He unbuckled his safety harness and stood up. "I'm goin' changin', so no peekin' any o' you."

"Remarkably modest of you," Jubilee observed wryly as Gambit went to the back of the jet. "What happened?"

"Heh," Gambit laughed, "truth is Cherie, I worry for Ilehana. I don't wanna distract her wit' dis Adonis of a body or she crash the damn jet."

"Why would she want to check out a boy like you," grunted Logan. "When she's already got a real man?" Ilehana, the Vixen, had her own opinion on the subject.

"I'm your doctor Gambit, you've got nothing I haven't seen already."

Wolverine glanced at his partner, one eyebrow raised as he mouthed the word, really? This time Ilehana couldn't stifle the grin.

"Is it always like this?" Carter asked Iceman. Jubilee had pulled out a compact mirror and was using it to look behind her to where Gambit was stripping down to his underwear. Carter caught an eyeful as Jubilee tilted the mirror so Shadowcat could look too. Carter was so distracted it took her a second to realise Bobby had replied to her. "I'm sorry," she said, tearing her eyes away. "What did you say?"

"Basically," repeated Bobby pragmatically, "yes, it's always like this." He ducked down instinctively as Gambit's filthy t-shirt suddenly flew through the air to land on Jubilee and her mirror. Jubilee screeched blue murder, flicking the t-shirt away as if touching it would constitute a breach of bio-hazard regulations. The t-shirt fell onto the floor, looking offended and giving off a musty odour. Moments later, Gambit reappeared in a uniform that matched the other members of his team.

"Nice uniform," droned Mitchell as Gambit re-took his seat. "So, erm, do you guys have a name or somethin'?"

"Yes," replied Shadowcat sincerely, making puppy-dog eyes at the fetching colonel. "We're the X-Men."


	18. Chapter 18

**Disclaimer:** I own nothing, nada, zip. My OCs own me. Vixen belongs to Corrinth.

**A/N:** Review update- 'Astarte' now lies joint 3rd in my stories with the most reviews rating. Only 18 more review required to equal 'Dark Elements'. C'mon, you know you want to...

**18**

_Gate Room, Stargate Command, Cheyenne Mountain_

"Incoming wormhole," announced Mystique needlessly as the Stargate whirred into life. Pyro left the blue changling flicking switches and watching monitors, and headed down into the Gate Room. By the time he got there, the Stargate had solidified and a handful of Multiples were carrying an assortment of crates into the SGC. One of the Multiples was stood to one side on the metal grate ramp that led up to the Gate. Intrigued, Pyro approached him.

"Hey man," Pyro began, "have you really just come from another planet?"

"Yeah, sure," Multiple shrugged.

"How could you tell?"

"It was, y'know, different," Multiple folded his arms, "men in dresses, livin' in huts, no cars and no TV."

"What about the women?" Pyro asked. Multiple looked hard at Pyro.

"Naked," he said, "every one of them."

"Really?" Pyro gagged. "Why'd you come back?" Before Multiple could answer, there was a resonating scream that echoed around the whole of the empty base.

"What was that?" asked Multiple.

"Astarte's started experimenting on Storm," Pyro explained. "Don't worry, you'll get used to it."

"Oh, okay," said Multiple. "Where's Magneto?"

"I think," said Pyro, "he's talking to Teal'c."

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Indeed, whilst Astarte busied herself with her research, Magneto had spent a great deal of time talking to Teal'c. The Master of Magnetism had been concerned that the Jaffa warrior would want to withhold information from him. It was a pleasant surprise that Teal'c wanted to tell Magneto everything about the Goa'uld and Jaffa. Oh his reasons were honourable; Teal'c did not want to see anyone become enslaved by the Goa'uld in the way his people had been. Magneto did not care for Teal'c's reasons, as he had no intention of being a slave to Astarte or anyone else. Yet by the time he left the talkative Jaffa's cell, Magneto knew exactly what he was going to do. Teal'c had told him that no Goa'uld could be trusted. Someone should tell the Jaffa that the same applied to the leader of the Brotherhood of Mutants.

Mystique, ever loyal so long as it suited her, found Magneto as he entered the infirmary. They did not exchange words as they came to stand before the seething vat of Astarte's young. Teal'c had confirmed what Magneto had suspected all along. Though a little immature for the rite of implantation, these symbiotes would easily survive the process if the host was strong. Astarte was holing out on the Brotherhood, waiting to see if they would serve her purpose before committing her young to them. Magneto did not take kindly to being kept waiting.

Whilst Mystique raided an equipment drawer for a pair of long-handled forceps, Magneto unbuttoned his shirt. In a deft movement, Mystique plunged the forceps into the tank and drew out a squirming, dripping wet Goa'uld symbiote. Less than enamored with the disgusting snake-like creature, Mystique grimaced as she turned to face Magneto. The symbiote chomped its mandibles, wrapping its tail around the forceps and trying its best to wriggle free.

Bracing himself, Magneto grit his teeth as Mystique brought the symbiote within a few inches of the pouch Astarte had inflicted in his stomach. Sensing the pouch, the Goa'uld surged forwards, wrenching itself from the forceps with all its might. Mystique was forced to let go or cut the creature in half. Magneto gasped as the symbiote plunged inside of him with no regard for his welfare and proceeded to squirm intolerably, as though it was getting comfortable.

Magneto placed his fingertips on the pouch, feeling the movement inside, and felt nausea accompany triumph. He may have cheated death for the time being, extending his life for many more years, but at what cost?

"Now what?" Mystique demanded, hand on her hip.

"Kill the rest," Magneto ordered with a wave of his hand. He turned and left the room, so he did not see the malicious smile that spread across Mystique's face. She walked over to a medical supplies trolley and selected a bottle of powerful anesthetic. Biting the top off the bottle, Mystique spat the lid across the room. Then she upturned the bottle, emptying its contents into the churning vat of symbiotes. For a brief moment as the cloudy liquid dispersed in the tank, the symbiotes writhed faster. It was as if they realised that their water was polluted. Then as the drug took effect they ceased moving and sank to lay several layers deep in the bottom of the vat.

Happy that she had dumped enough chemical in the water to kill a grown elephant, Mystique turned and walked out. All in all, she felt pretty good.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

It didn't take long after that for Astarte to discover she had been betrayed and her young slaughtered. Her furious roar of defiance echoed through the empty corridors of the SGC. Crackling with angry flame, she stormed into the Gate Room like a raging dragoness. Teeth bared, fists clenched and Blaze's powers sparkling all around her, the seething Goa'uld faced down the Brotherhood wanting blood.

"Which one of you," she began. Her haughty voice echoed around the room, getting louder with every word. "Insignificant, primitive, plebian cretins has killed my young? Answer me, you abhorrent scum, or all of you will suffer the consequences!"

"Now, now, my dear," placated Magneto. The Master of Magnetism did not need to glance at Mystique or the others. He already knew they were falling in to flank him as he addressed Astarte calmly. "The only abhorrence here is you. You do not belong in that body and neither do you belong on our fair planet." Eric Lensherr started to chuckle, "Or did you really believe that we would help you take over the world? The Brotherhood of Mutants works for no one but ourselves."

"You double-crossing, thieving murderer!" screamed Astarte. "I sense the infant Goa'uld inside of you, Magneto! This insolence to your Goddess will result in your death!" With a vocal roar, she drew back her hands to her stomach and released a blast of dragon's flame. Magneto didn't even blanch. Pyro's hand shot out and called the fire to him. With a wave of his arm, Pyro deflected Astarte's attack harmlessly away. It hit the concrete wall of the Gate Room and went out, leaving a blackened smudge behind. Astarte glowered at John, her voice wheedling but her eyes hard.

"Pyro, after all the favours I have bestowed on you, this is how you repay me?"

"Keep it comin' lady," Pyro replied. "I can keep this up all day."

"Really," Astarte snarled her displeasure, "My experience of you tells me that is highly unlikely."

She brought up her hand device and aimed a sonic pulse at Pyro. At the last second before the pulse sent Pyro flying into the wall behind him, Multiple split off a clone who took the force of the blast instead. Mystique didn't give Astarte chance to work out what had happened. The shape-shifter ran forwards, intent as a cheetah on her prey. Arching her body she propelled herself onto her hands, somersaulted through the air and landed two bare feet smartly in Astarte's midriff. The Goa'uld guffawed as all the air was forced out of her. She fell backwards, staggering against the ring of the Stargate. Mystique straightened up and raised a fist to finish the job until Magneto called out for her to step away...


	19. Chapter 19

Disclaimer: I own nothing, nada, zip

**Disclaimer:** I own nothing, nada, zip. My OCs own me. Vixen belongs to Corrinth.

**19**

_Gate Room, Stargate Command, Cheyenne Mountain_

There was a wrenching sound as a two metre length of pipe detached itself from the wall. With malice, Magneto used his powers to whip the metal around Blaze's slender body. Astarte recovered enough from Mystique's blow to start shouting obscenities not worthy of a supposed goddess. Magneto silenced her with a wave of his arm. At his command, the metal lifted clear of the floor. At the same time a colossal screeching filled the room, as the protective Iris that covered the Earth Stargate rolled out to coat the gaping hole where the wormhole would form. Magneto put the two together using his powers, welding the pipe to the Iris. He suspended Astarte a clear seven feet above the ground in the centre of the Stargate. His final act was to bend the pipe to cover the Goa'uld's foul mouth.

"Boss," Multiple attracted Magneto's attention. "We got company upstairs." A shudder ran through the original James Maddrox as he lost a couple of clones, "X-Men."

"Impeccable timing, Charles, impeccable," Magneto said to himself. Instinctively he adjusted the helmet on his head, before sighing and turning to Astarte one last time. Sarcastically he bowed low to the Goa'uld, cape billowing. "Excuse us, my Goddess." Astarte glared, flames writhing around her as she summoned one last attack. She did not see the shard of metal that flew across the room, hit her temple and knocked her completely unconscious.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

The X-Men scrambled from the Blackbird almost as soon as it touched the ground at Cheyenne Mountain. They charged the Multiples who were guarding the surface. There were plenty of the Brotherhood member to go around, so even Wolverine thought he'd get a decent workout before the gang made it to the lift shaft. Mitchell and Carter did what they could, but the X-Men didn't carry guns so they were unarmed.

Mitchell had convinced Gambit to loan him an extendable metal staff and was making his way using the moves he had learned from the Jaffa Sodan warrior clan. Disappointingly he and Gambit were fighting well together. Back to back, they crab stepped their way through the fight. Gambit used his ranged attack with exploding playing cards to take out the Multiples who were using P60 semi-automatics, whilst Mitchell neutralized those who came in closer.

Meanwhile Wolverine was an unstoppable force of nature, scything his way through the Multiples like a set of adamantium claws through butter. Vixen had animorphed into a huge grey wolf and was darting this way and that. She got under the feet of the Multiples and hamstrung them. Jubilee and Iceman blasted away with their ranged powers, whilst Shadowcat kept them intangible so they couldn't be shot. In the corner of his eye, Mitchell saw bullets pass right through the trio. Seconds after any Multiple had been hit, he disappeared, but there always seemed to be more to take his place.

Carter was struggling without a gun, so when a Multiple dropped his in the fracas, she made a break for the P60. Of course she chose the exact moment to break from the group when Wolverine ordered a change of tactics. Before they realised Carter was missing, Iceman had thrown up a huge ice-shield for them to regroup behind. With the ice between them and the Multiples, the noise of weapons fire became dimmed and muffled. Muted thuds and anxious cracks were testament to bullets embedding themselves in the ice. Even with Bobby reinforcing the screen, it wouldn't last for long.

"Right," Wolverine began, "change of plan. We gotta…"

"Where's Sam?" demanded Mitchell, looking around.

"Dammit," cursed Logan. "Ilehana?"

#She's alive,# the telepath confirmed silently, #and unharmed. But she's on the other side of the ice. Shadowcat, can you fetch her?#

"No problemo," chirped Kitty. Immediately she turned and disappeared through the ice shield. On the other side of the screen, Carter had collected a P60 and briefly returned fire. Completely outnumbered, she didn't think she'd last long. Suddenly, a bullet struck her, hitting her square in the stomach. Sam gasped in shock, instinctively putting her had to the entry wound. There was nothing, no blood, no pain. Looking up, Carter saw Shadowcat had placed her hand on Sam's shoulder just in time. Relief swamped Carter in a wave.

Together the two women made a dart for the ice shield. Seeing another downed weapon, Carter tugged on Shadowcat's arm and received a curt nod in reply. Keeping low to the ground, the women ran hand-in-hand to the dropped weapon. The Multiples rained bullets down on them, which spat up off the concrete as Carter reached out for a second P60. Even knowing she was intangible, she still flinched instinctively and covered her eyes. It was as well that she did, as the next second the air was lit up with searingly bright coloured lights that blinded the Multiples.

Seeing the Multiples distracted with Sam and Kitty, the X-Men had seized the opportunity. Jubilee and Gambit launched dual attacks into the sky, timing their explosions to blind the Multiples. At the same instant, Iceman put both hands to the ground. From his outstretched palms grew a permafrost that froze the Multiple's feet so that they couldn't move. Mitchell broke forward to help Carter and Shadowcat get behind the ice screen. Logan and Vixen outflanked the Multiples in the mêlée. The wolf and the Wolverine bounded from each blinded, stranded Multiple to the next. It didn't take long for all the Multiples to be vanquished.

Smiling, Carter presented Mitchell with a P60 all of his own. Cam tossed the staff weapon back to Remy before accepting the gun.

"Now that's what I'm talkin' about," Mitchell approved, checking the clip.

"You're welcome," Carter told him. The X-Men were already making a break for the base's entrance. "Shall we?" Carter asked.

"Ladies first," Mitchell indicated, letting Carter lead the way. Shadowcat had waited for them.

"Any idea what we can expect down there?" Kitty asked the colonels.

"None whatsoever," Cam replied. "So it should be fun. Let's go."


	20. Chapter 20

**Disclaimer:** I own nothing, nada, zip. My OCs own me. Vixen belongs to Corrinth.

**A/N:** To freegirl; In addition to the review reply I sent you, I then re-read your review and have one more thing to say- I don't do ROMYs. Not now, not ever. Sorry 'n' all, but a certain messed up Manc lass got in there first... #grins#

**20**

_Cheyenne Mountain USAF Base, Colorado Springs, USA_

Down below the surface, in the gloomy concrete cell where Astarte had imprisoned them, sat Storm and Teal'c. Ororo was exhausted and in no small amount of pain thanks to Astarte's experiments. She was slumped with her head on Teal'c shoulder, eyes fixed on an empty middle distance. Teal'c, still bound with metal rings, had done his best to comfort her. He had told her stories from his life, of his time with SG-1 and the Jaffa uprising against the Goa'uld. Storm said nothing, and after what she had been through Teal'c didn't even know if she understood his words. Still, he hoped the sound of his voice was calming to her and that she knew she was not alone. To be truthful, he had not spoken this much in years.

Teal'c was halfway through the story of his attempt to move off-base, whereupon he had been framed for murder, when it started. Alarms throughout the base blasted out, so loud Teal'c could feel his bones vibrating. Through the reinforced glass panel in the cell door, Teal'c could see the lights in the corridor start to whirr crimson. A shudder passed through Storm as she forced herself to sit up straight, "What is it?"

"It sounds," said Teal'c, "as though the base's self-destruct has been activated."

"That is not good," acknowledged Storm.

"No," Teal'c agreed, "it is not."

"There's nothing we can do, is there?"

"I do not believe so."

Looking at Teal'c, Storm realised that this was the first time in their brief but eventful time together that the Jaffa had looked truly concerned. She placed a hand lightly on his huge muscled forearm, trying to return some of the kindness he had shown her. Teal'c turned his head and met her eyes, and some kind of silent accord passed between them. If this was the end, then they would not meet it alone.

Rap-a-tat-tap! Storm and Teal'c both jumped at the sound of the knock on the door. They lurched to their feet, gaping at the smiling face that winked at them through the glass in the door. It was Gambit, and he was trying to tell them something. Over the noise of the sirens and the shock of seeing the Cajun, Storm couldn't make out what he was saying. She walked towards the door with a quizzical expression. Gambit started frantically shaking his head. He lifted a playing card to the glass, charging it with his powers so that it glowed fuchsia. Storm got the message. She nodded, and then turned to Teal'c.

"We have to move to the back of the cell. Remy's going to blow the door."

"Can he not use a lesser amount of force to obtain the same effect? Preferably without us needing to cower in a corner..."

"Maybe, but this is Gambit," Storm replied as they moved as far from the door as possible. "He doesn't do subtle."

Just in time, she wrapped her arms around her head and turned away from the door. Nobly Teal'c stepped between Storm and the blast. Gambit placed his glowing card in the gap between door and door frame before taking cover. There was a resounding boom as the door blew off its hinges and flew across the hallway. It crashed into the wall with a thud, sending up a wave of dust from the concrete. As the dust and smoke cleared, Storm turned around and smiled up at the brave Jaffa. Teal'c hair was grey with dust, and he had a smudge of dirt across his cheek like a naughty schoolboy. Ororo reached up and rubbed it away with the ball of her thumb.

"Hope I ain't interruptin' not'ing," chuckled Remy from the doorway.

"What's going on?" Storm asked, stepping around Teal'c and accepting a friendly hug from the Cajun.

"I was gonna ask you de same t'ing," Gambit said. "Dis place deader than one o' Cyclops' trainin' sessions. Everywhere got someplace better to be, non?" Remy took a good look at Teal'c's bounds. "Wanna hand wit' that Ami?"

"If you plan on blowing up this metal in the same way you destroyed that door," Teal'c replied, "Then no, I am fine as I am."

"Live dangerously," advised Gambit. He reached out and touched a bare finger to the metal around Teal'c arms and chest. Teal'c froze, convinced that his life was about to be ended at the hands of a madman. To his surprise, there was a small pop like a champagne cork, and the bonds fell clattering to the floor. Other than a small tingling in his arm nearest where Remy had applied his power, there were no ill-effects. Teal'c raised an eyebrow in disbelief, and then inclined his head in thanks.

"Where are Colonels Mitchell and Carter?" asked Teal'c as the trio left the cell.

"They're here, they're bien," Gambit replied off-handedly. "Now how 'bout we get outta here before somet'ing explodes that ain't not'ing to do wit' me, eh?" He put a finger to the communicator that was in his right ear, "Vixen, I found 'em. We're fallin' back…"

#Glad to hear it,# Vixen replied telepathically, including Storm and a somewhat bewildered Teal'c in her communiqué. #Get out of there quickly, the self-destruct will activate any second. You are running out of time.#

None of them replied, as they were concentrating on sprinting towards the surface. Gambit led with Storm then Teal'c following behind. All around them sirens screamed and red lights pulsed. Suddenly, Teal'c reached out and grabbed Storm's hand in his. "This way!"

Gambit turned just in time as Teal'c and Storm made a break down a passageway to the right. He skidded to a halt on the greasy floor, then spun and sprinted after them.

"Green line," he gasped as he caught them up. He waved at the spectrum of coloured lines that were painted onto the cream coloured floor. "I followed the green line down here… ain't it the green line to get out again?"

"The green line leads to the main lift shaft," Teal'c agreed, barely out of breath. "However, this way is quicker. It leads to a back exit."

"Back exit?" Gambit wheezed, struggling to keep up as Teal'c more-or-less dragged Storm along by the hand.

"Indeed," Teal'c replied. He shot a glance across at the worried Cajun. "I believe the phrase is, 'live dangerously'?"

"It's your backyard," Gambit conceded, "but if we get blown up, I want everyone to know dis time it ain't my fault…"


	21. Chapter 21

**Disclaimer:** I own nothing, nada, zip. My OCs own me. Vixen belongs to Corrinth.

**21**

_Cheyenne Mountain USAF Base, Colorado Springs, USA_

"Last wall!" called Carter, as the team sent to shut down the autodestruct ran headlong through the SGC.

"Hold on!" warned Shadowcat, offering her hands. Iceman took her left, Carter her right. Mitchell grabbed Carter's right and the four ploughed straight through the concrete barricade. After a moment, Mitchell decided to breathe again and opened his eyes.

Carter was already at work. Experience had told her not to bother trying to shut down the autodestruct from the control room, as she was invariably locked out of the system. The self-destruct unit in front of her was six feet long and four feet high. It resembled a shiny silver pipe, with a computer terminal at each end. It would require the collaboration of two senior officers to disarm, so Carter went to one end and Mitchell the other. Iceman and Shadowcat looked on nervously.

"Ready?" Carter asked Mitchell as they both fitted keys into the slots on the consoles, "on my mark; three, two, one, mark." They turned the keys. Nothing happened. The lights still flashed red. The alarms were still ringing through the underground base. The counter on the console display was still counting down to zero. Mitchell gulped. This did not look promising. Carter looked blankly at the monitor, and then started to frantically hit the keyboard.

"I don't understand," she said. "That should have worked. That always works."

"Yeah, well," Mitchell replied, "this time it didn't."

"I don't know what to do," admitted Carter, shaking her blonde head.

"You'd better think of something," Mitchell was unsympathetic. "We're fast runnin' out of time. C'mon Sam!"

Carter bit her lip, typing in a few more key commands and getting the same, unhelpful response from the system. "Sam?" pressed Mitchell, but she ignored him. Then, as Mitchell knew it would, a stroke of genius hit her.

"Iceman, can you operate the other console?" Bobby nodded and Mitchell moved aside. Without looking up, Carter continued, "we need to reboot the shut down sequence and reinstate the protocols for override. I'll send the instructions through to your screen. Do you know delta programming?"

"Yeah, no problem," replied Bobby as he started punching keys in a staccato rhythm. The technical babble passed between them thick and fast as the LCD clock on the front of the device steadily ticked down.

"The back-tracing is all skewed, need to run a diagnostic…"

"No time for that, patch it with a shift sequence…"

"The reboot has more viruses than a hospital wing. The firewall must have been deactivated…"

"Import the back-up from the sub-folder; that should cover it…"

"Nuh-uh, it's a no-go, the back-up's gone AWOL…"

"Then try…"

"People!" Mitchell shouted, pointing to the clock. "Ten seconds! Do something!"

"There's nothing I can do!" Sam wailed, looking terrified. "I'm sorry!"

"Five seconds!" counted Mitchell, sweat pricking his brow and knuckles white. "Four! Three!"

"No!" cried Kitty, phasing through Carter and swiping an intangible hand through the console. Sparks flew. The monitor flickered and went black. On the front of the autodestruct the LCD display fluctuated tremulously… and stopped counting down. The timer read one second remaining. After thirty, the four of them all breathed a collective sigh of relief. Bobby recovered the quickest.

"Kitty, did you know you could stop it?"

"No," Shadowcat admitted with a nervous giggle, "not really. I knew it would probably go one way or the other. I figured we had, like, nothing to lose."

"Good call," Mitchell grinned approvingly. He and Carter removed their keys from the device and they all headed to the door.

"Vixen," Iceman said, touching his communicator. "Autodestruct is deactivated. You can come on in."

#Excellent,# approved the telepath in all their minds. #The perimeter is secure, we are on our way into the base now.#

"Ask her if Gambit found Storm and Teal'c," Mitchell said to Iceman.

#I can hear you, Colonel Mitchell,# Vixen replied. #Yes, Gambit has freed Storm and your friend Teal'c.#

"That's good news," Mitchell said out loud. Privately he thought #You can call me Shaft y'know…#

#I'll stick to Colonel Mitchell,# Ilehana told him with a mental chuckle, #but thank you for the thought.#

#Or Cam, Cam is good,# appended Mitchell, but if Vixen was listening she didn't reply. "Damn," Mitchell swore under his breath. "Huh, can't win 'em all."

"Better luck next time," commiserated Carter.

"What, now you're psychic too?" Mitchell asked.

"Wouldn't you like to know?" laughed Sam. "C'mon, let's go see if we can find our friend Astarte…"


	22. Chapter 22

**Disclaimer:** I own nothing, nada, zip. My OCs own me. Vixen belongs to Corrinth.

A/N: Sorry for the delay in posting this chapter, I've been on my hols (vacationing in Florida) and getting engaged! Yay for me! Anyway, hope you enjoy...

**22**

_Cheyenne Mountain USAF Base, Colorado Springs, USA_

Wolverine, Vixen and Jubilee had conducted a sweep of the base's perimeter, but they found no trace of the Brotherhood or Astarte. If they had departed the scene already, then not even Wolverine's hypersensitive sense of smell could determine how. Logan was adamant, the Brotherhood might be able to get past him, but Blaze's smell was too unique for him to miss. The smell of burnt charcoal the morning after a bonfire, tainted fire and ash, he reckoned he would know his fellow X-Man a mile away.

"This alien thing might be controlling her mind," Logan insisted, "but she'd still stink like Blaze t'me."

"So either she's still underground," Jubilee rationalised. "Or, she's gone through that space gate thing Colonel Carter was telling us about to another planet and we'll never get her back. Or she was never here in the first place an' this is all a Brotherhood set-up. Or she…"

"The autodestruct has been disabled," Vixen interrupted before Jubilee's imagination ran away with her. "We should get down there. Gambit, Storm and Teal'c will meet us on the way. Carter suggests we rendezvous at the control room and take it from their."

"D'you know the way?" Jubilee asked.

"Course she does," Logan positively purred.

"Oh yeah," Jubilee sniggered, "I forgot, Vixen knows _everything_."

#I know who your date was with,# Vixen told Jubilee, #and why you don't want the X-Men to know. Honestly Jubilation, what were you thinking?#

#Keep your mind to yourself,# Jubilee snapped, making Vixen smile. In truth, Ilehana had no idea who Jubilee had been seeing on the last poker night before this mission. Doctor Xavier thought very much like her father, and would not invade another person's mind without permission. Still, Jubilee had a way of looking guilty that made her too easy a target for such jokes.

"Did I just miss something?" asked Logan.

"No, no," Vixen replied quickly. "Look, there's Remy and Ororo."

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

_Control Room, Stargate Command, Cheyenne Mountain_

By the time the rest of the team arrived in the control room, Carter was already scrolling through security camera footage on multiple screens. The blast shield was down over the window that nominally looked out over the gate room, but Carter still found being close to the Stargate reassuring. It offered the only hope in the hauntingly empty base that General Landry and everyone else might still be alive. Whilst Ilehana and Iceman helped Carter with the footage, Mitchell turned to Wolverine.

"No sign of the bad guys up-top?" Cam asked. Logan shook his head. Mitchell grimaced in frustration. "Then the Goa'uld is still out there. Damn it."

"Yes, but it looks like Landry and everyone else could be okay," Carter commented hopefully. "Look," she pointed to a screen as everyone gathered around. "They were sent through the Stargate."

"Colonel Carter," said Teal'c, "are you able to obtain a gate address?"

"Just gimme a minute," requested Carter. "Someone has tried to wipe the system, but I should be able to recover the data for recently established wormholes… There! Got it!"

"Dial her up," ordered Mitchell, folding his arms across his chest. Carter nodded, hitting a button to raise the blast screen…

…and stopped.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

_Gate Room, Stargate Command, Cheyenne Mountain_

They rushed downstairs into the gate room like refugees storming an aid convoy, and then stopped at the foot of the ramp that lay before the Stargate itself. Astarte hung limply in the metal bonds Magneto had fused to the centre of the Iris. There was something symbolic about the way she was presented, this woman in white. Almost like a sacrificial lamb, thought Carter. I wonder why Magneto abandoned her. Why not just kill her and be done with it? It seemed wrong to raise her voice and ask her questions out loud. There was a reverent air in the gate room, almost like being in a place of worship, which Carter had not experienced before. Softly clearing her throat, Carter quietly asked Wolverine, who was standing closest to her.

"Magneto's buyin' us off," Wolverine answered, equally considerate of the bizarre atmosphere. "He knew we were on our way. By leaving us Astarte to deal with he stops us from trackin' him down. Whatever he wanted from their little arrangement, looks like he got it."

"Encouraging thought," Carter commented with a shudder. "I'm just glad he's your problem and not ours." She looked up at the figure suspended from the Gate. "Can someone please get her down from there?"

"Iceman, Shadowcat?" Wolverine suggested. Bobby and Kitty knew what to do. Iceman built a scaffold of ice up to the prisoner, shimmering and blue in the electric lights of the gate room. He and Kitty were carried by the ice as if on a magic carpet, right up to the suspended figure. Reaching up, Kitty gently phased Astarte through the metal and into Iceman's waiting arms.

Delicately Iceman took Astarte and passed her down to Gambit, who was waiting with up-stretched arms at the base of the ice. Somberly Remy carried the limp form of Astarte down the ramp towards his waiting comrades. Without saying a word, he passed between them and went directly to the SGC's cell block. Ten minutes later, the Goa'uld was securely imprisoned. Collectively, the X-Men and SG-1 could breathe a sigh of relief.


	23. Chapter 23

**Disclaimer:** I own nothing, nada, zip. My OCs own me. Vixen belongs to Corrinth.

**A/N:** For anyone (Rasa) not familar with the final couple of seasons of Stargate SG1, I should probably point out that the Tokra are pretty much disappeared, and that Sam's father Jacob and his Tokra symbiote are no longer with us. There will be no Tokra, Tolan or any other advanced aliens, to remove the Goa'uld Astarte from her current host. If you've no idea what I'm talking about- don't worry, you've missed nothing! Lamby

**23 **

_Cheyenne Mountain USAF Base, Colorado Springs, USA_

The X-Men stayed at Cheyenne Mountain for as long as it took Carter to get Magneto's additions off the Iris and dial the Gate. Jubilee had offered to help Carter with some mutant-style welding. Wolverine, Teal'c and Mitchell organised patrols in case the Brotherhood had any more surprises for them. Iceman and Shadowcat made up the patrol numbers. Storm was under Vixen's care in the SGC's infirmary, and recovering well from her ordeal.

Gambit opted to guard the prisoner, and no one thought to argue with him. Astarte had quickly regained consciousness away from the ice-cold metal of the Iris. She meekly ate the dried USAF rations that were brought to her, but the meekness did not last. As soon as her strength returned, she began to berate and insult her guard. Her foul-mouthed tirade could be heard echoing up and down the corridors of the SGC, punctuated every now and then with an explosion of fire.

No matter what Astarte did to provoke him, Gambit did not move. He did not flinch, or raise his voice in anger. The concrete cell was equally impervious to the fire Astarte threw at it. Eventually she gave up, taking a seat on the bench by the wall. It was hopeless, and she was at their mercy. The concept was so foreign to the Goa'uld that she could not bring herself to hope. Her selfish thoughts darkened, and she fell into a bleak despair.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

_Operating Theatre, Stargate Command, Cheyenne Mountain USAF Base_

The gurney trolley rolled into the operating bay with the urgent sound of clacking wheels. Starched green sheets were deftly wafted about the unconscious patient. Shining scalpels and forceps twinkled like a starry night, tinkling against each other in a steel tray. Disinfectant permeated the air, making it thick with the smell of chemicals. There was the snap of purple nitrile gloves being applied, accompanied by low voices muffled behind cloth facemasks. Someone adjusted a lighting rig, turning stainless steel spotlights onto the gurney. The action bathed the scene in bright white, angelic illumination.

"I have to tell you," Doctor Lam insisted. "There is a very low probability of this operation being successful. Astarte will not just let go."

"I understand," Doctor Xavier replied cautiously, "but we have to try. I'll do all I can to subdue the Goa'uld telepathically whilst we operate."

"Will it work?" Carolyn wanted to know.

"I don't know," admitted Ilehana. "It's a lot to take on, assisting you and subduing another mind. I'm good, but I'm not superhuman."

Carolyn raised an eyebrow, betraying her amusement. Then abruptly both women became consummate professionals, beginning their work with earnest precision. The patient was rolled onto her front, airways checked and re-checked. Equipment was hooked up to monitor vitals, their incessant beeping a reassuring chorus in the background. Dr Lam called for a nine-blade scalpel. With the blade in her hand, she applied cold steel to the firm, pale skin at the back of the host's neck.

Tracing the scar from Astarte's unwanted entrance, Dr Lam split the skin smoothly. For a moment the cut was clear, before a trickle of blood clouded the incision. Carolyn frowned, cutting next through the thin layer of muscle to reveal the spinal column underneath. The white of the vertebrae bones looked almost alien amidst the colourful soft tissue. Dr Xavier dabbed the open wound, drawing away the blood, so the two doctors could get a better look at the damage caused by the Goa'uld.

Coiled around the vertebrae in a neck-breaking embrace was the snake-like body of the Goa'uld, black and glistening with the host's blood. Doctor Lam glanced to Doctor Xavier, wondering how she was reacting to seeing her first parasitical extra-terrestrial in-situ. Ilehana's face was pinched and her brow creased, not through disgust but through concentration. She mopped up more of the host's blood with a swab, then tentatively passed Doctor Lam's seeker. Carolyn took the fine-tipped probe and gently tried to lift Astarte's muscular body away from the vertebrae.

As soon as the probe touched the Goa'uld, a shiver visibly ran down the creature's body. Dr Lam pulled back until the contractions had finished, before carefully closing in again with the seeker. Ilehana shot out a gloved hand and stopped Carolyn before she could touch the Goa'uld again. There was perspiration now on Dr Xavier's brow, and her voice was worried.

"Wait," Vixen insisted. "I'm losing her. Her mind is so strong, and she knows what we are trying to do."

"If she takes control, she will kill the host rather than be removed from it," Dr Lam emphasised.

"I know that," snapped Dr Xavier.

"We have to hurry," Carolyn said, "to try and get the Goa'uld out before she can do any more damage."

"All right, I have her," Ilehana answered, though she didn't sound confident. "Let's try again."

Both doctors reached for their forceps and began to try and disentangle the tail end of the Goa'uld. They had barely managed to get a grip on the slippery creature when Ilehana let go and recoiled. She closed her blue eyes tight shut, shaking her head to rid it of the horrendous images from Astarte's mind.

"I've never been inside a mind as cruel and brutal as this," Doctor Xavier admitted. "She's barraging me with images of death and torture to try and get me to release her motor functions. I don't think I can hold on for much longer…"

"Then what do we do?" demanded Carolyn.

"I don't know," Ilehana said, panic rising in her voice. She was fighting now to keep control of her own mind, never mind Astarte's. "We've come so far, too far to lose like this…"

"Perhaps I may be of assistance?"

Both doctors looked around at the sound of a calming male voice. Entering the operating theatre in a wheelchair and all the appropriate surgical attire was Ilehana's father, Professor Charles Xavier. His blue eyes were serious, but kindly. Ilehana visibly relaxed as soon as she saw her father. Doctor Lam looked up to the observation bay, where behind the glass her father General Hank Landry was watching. Landry saw the question in Carolyn's expression and nodded once. It was okay, this man could be trusted.

"By all means Dad," Ilehana greeted her father. Xavier senior proceeded directly to the patient's head, placing his hands around but not touching the skull. Slowly, his eyes flickered closed. Ilehana let out a small hiss of breath as the pressure of trying to subdue the Goa'uld was taken by her father. She looked over to Doctor Lam and said, "Let's get this over with, shall we?"


	24. Chapter 24

**Disclaimer:** I own nothing, nada, zip. My OCs own me. Vixen belongs to Corrinth.

**24**

_Cheyenne Mountain USAF Base, Colorado Springs, USA_

Not a day later, the SGC was already beginning to settle back into its usual rhythms and routines. Every few hours, the Stargate droned into life and teams of intrepid men and women set out to discover the universe. In between times, briefings and debriefings were marshaled by General Landry. Walter and the gate technicians slowly worked to eradicate the damage done to the systems by Mystique. Sergeant Sylar completed the mending of the Iris that Carter and Jubilee had begun. Green jelly was served with every meal, and daylight was forgotten under the perpetual buzzing of yellow electric lights.

In a bare recovery room, a figure clad in a pale blue surgical robe perched on the edge of a trolley bed. Her hands clutched the edge of the thin mattress pad, whilst her bare feet dangled clear of the ground. Her hair was tied back in a loose ponytail. Four or five curls had broken free to frame her pretty face. Without make-up, her button nose showed a smattering of freckles, whilst her big brown eyes were rimmed with long but pale lashes. Her lips and cheeks were drained of colour after the operation. A white dressing covered the surgical incision in the back of her neck.

A Pyrex tank containing a clear, bubbling liquid was on a trolley across from the woman. Seething inside the jar was a two-foot long, glistening black adult Goa'uld. The parasite was the opposite of the human it had inhabited. Where she sat poised and contemplative, it thrashed and keened and chomped its mouthparts. Its muscles rippled repulsively as it flung itself against the walls of its prison, determined to be free.

Slowly, the woman found the words that she had been searching for. Her voice was scratchy and broken, but the venom in it made up for what it lacked in volume. She addressed the creature frankly, meaning her message with every fibre of her being.

"You will pay for your crimes against the Earth."

The slightest shadow of concentration flickered across the woman's face. Astarte opened her mandibles and screamed wretchedly as the tank, and all its contents, burst into crisp, bright flame. It burned for a few seconds, spewing noxious fumes and smoke, before the detectors in the ceiling activated. Fire alarms throughout the SGC broke into song, deafening everyone. Personnel charged to the recovery room to help, including Doctor Lam.

Carolyn blinked, open-mouthed consternation robbing her of words, as she pushed open the double doors to see Astarte roasting in her own juices. The culprit did not see concerned about the havoc she wreaked. Casually the woman slid down from the trolley bed onto the cold floor. She turned her back on the flaming tank and made her way to the exit. Passing Doctor Lam and the few other personnel, she said flippantly, "I didn't touch it."

Leaving them floundering in her wake, she pushed at the swinging double doors and passed through them. Between the smell of cooked Goa'uld and the racket of the fire alarm, the corridor was tranquil. The woman put a hand to her hair and ripped it loose of the ponytail. Shaking her head slightly, long red curls cascaded over her shoulders and down her back. Walking away calmly from the bedlam she had created behind her, Blaze smiled. She was back.


	25. Chapter 25

**Disclaimer:** I own nothing, nada, zip. My OCs own me. Vixen belongs to Corrinth.

**Epilogue**

_Diego's Bar, Westchester, New York_

"We were strolling on a bridge over the Seine," Vala told her wide-eyed audience of Jubilee and Shadowcat. "When Daniel took me by the hand and whisked me into his strong arms. My heart is still doing somersaults… or that could just be the after-effects of the escargot, but never mind. I swear I did not know Daniel had that much romantic in him, but obviously I was wrong. It must be Paris, I've been told its one of the more romantic cities on your planet, and I…"

Smiling, Sam Carter stopped listening to Vala's monologue and turned to Jackson, who was sat besides her. "You whisked her off her feet?"

"She stepped into the road in front of a truck," Jackson clarified wearily. "At least, that's what I think happened. This story has changed so much I'm not even sure I was there any more." Carter laughed, glancing at Kitty and Jubilee.

"Should we tell them not to believe a word she says?"

"I don't see the point, do you?" Daniel replied. "She's more convincing than either of us. Besides, Vala's doing no harm. The world is a better place for some romance, even if it is fabricated."

Carter looked quizzically at Jackson, struck by the idea that it might not have been so fabricated as Daniel would have them all believe. It seemed that the situation with the French police had been resolved fairly quickly, awarding Jackson and Vala an impromptu vacation in Paris whilst they waited for passports and documents from the USAF so they could return to the States. Jackson knew that Carter didn't believe that the vacation had been as miserable as he had told her, but still Daniel refused to rise to the bait. Rather than continue the conversation, he took a sip of his gin and tonic whilst casting his gaze around the bar.

SG-1, General Landry and Doctor Lam had been invited to Westchester as a thank you. They hadn't been allowed to tour the lower levels of the Xavier Mansion, Charles Xavier's good will didn't extend that far, but he had permitted them to see the school and meet some of the pupils. Now they had retreated to Diego's Bar for some well deserved R and R. Xavier himself was sat at a table with Ilehana, Hank Landry and Carolyn Lam. From the buzz of conversation it seemed as though the two father-daughter teams had a lot to talk about.

Wolverine and Iceman were bickering over the jukebox, accompanied by lots of gesticulating. Logan eventually threw his hands up in disgust and went outside to brood over a cigar. Snickering, Bobby promptly put on some New Jersey guitar rock that Logan would not have totally objected to. Picking up his chilled beer, Bobby crossed the wooden floor and took a seat in a pew alongside Carter and Jackson. Iceman and Sam were soon in discussion about Shockwave's prospects as a student, Air Force Cadet or politician whilst Jackson listened intently.

Storm was busy renewing her friendship with Teal'c. The big Jaffa listened politely as she outlined her concerns about being around Blaze after all Astarte had done to her.

"I don't know how I am going to feel," Ororo admitted quietly. "All that Astarte did to me with the torture and the experiments, it was Blaze who stood over me. It was Blaze who I pleaded with, Blaze who didn't so much as flinch when I screamed in pain."

"Indeed, it will be most difficult," Teal'c agreed calmly. "However it is highly important that you remember that Blaze was an unwilling precipitant in Astarte's actions. She has also been a victim in all this. It is highly likely that trapped within her own body as she was, Blaze was also greatly distressed at what Astarte did to you."

Storm considered this for a few moments, knowing there was wisdom in Teal'c words. Teal'c let her think. Storm was wise enough to realise that his words were true. Indeed, of all the humans he had met here on Earth, none had come so close to the ways of the Jaffa as Ororo. He found her company most reflective and amiable. He also knew that she was a warrior-born, filled with strength. He had seen it in the cell he had shared with her in the SGC. Teal'c was proud to know her, and he hoped she felt the same about him. Coming out of her reverie, Storm saw Teal'c was watching her and smiled coyly.

"So," she asked, "how are your son and his wife?"

Colonel Mitchell was on the way back from the bar with two bottles of beer when he saw Teal'c bonding with Storm. Cam shook his head, amused. It was always the quiet ones you had to watch out for. Mitchell walked past them and up to Gambit, who was loitering with intent at the back of the room.

"Here," Mitchell told the Cajun, offering a beer, "we good?

"Yeah," said Remy after a moment of weighing up his options. He took the bottle he was offered without complaint.

"Excellent," Mitchell decided, and clinked his bottle against Gambit's. "Cheers." Both men took a swig of beer, before Mitchell spoke again. "You must be ecstatic at gettin' your girl back?"

"My girl?"

"Yeah, y'know, Blaze? Redhead, 'bout yay tall, pyrokenetic… Not ringing any bells?" The corner of Gambit's mouth twitched in what could have been a smile.

"She ain't my girl," he told Cam flatly. "We're just old friends."

"Right," drawled Cam. He wasn't sure if he should believe the Cajun or not. "You wouldn't mind if I maybe asked her out sometime then?" Gambit's secret smile became a glower, making Mitchell laugh. "I'm jokin' man, I swear. Although…" he paused as something behind Gambit caught his eye. The Cajun turned to see what Mitchell was looking at, just as those sat at the tables saw it too and the whole bar went deathly quiet.

Blaze was stood in the doorway. Hesitantly she stepped into the room and let the door close with a thump behind her. It took her eyes a moment to adjust to the bright light in the bar after the night outside. She paused, tentative like a rabbit in the headlights. She wore tapered three-quarter length jeans over black lacy stockings and heeled shoes. Her high-necked, sleeveless oriental style top was black with red detail. A lace scarf around her neck hid the dressing from her operation. Her hair was loose and her make-up, compared to Astarte's, was discreet. For the SGC personnel who had never seen Blaze as herself it was a revelation. For the X-Men, it was a relief.

Spotting the gang, Blaze gave a petite smile and a little wave as she headed over. Remy took a few steps forward to meet her so he could have a quiet word without the others hearing. This was the first time he had been allowed to see his friend since Astarte had been removed, and he needed to make sure it was really Blaze. He opened his arms to her and she trotted meekly into them, returning his chaste kisses to each cheek. Half-releasing her, Gambit took Blaze by the wrists and looked down on her critically. Unflustered, Blaze met his red-on-black gaze solemnly.

"How you feelin' Petite?"

"Good," Blaze replied, "actually, really quite good. Look," she wrenched her hands free and showed him her left wrist. The angry scar that had been there was now little more than a fine silver line, fading into nothing. "That slimy, insidious cretin Astarte healed me. Ilehana gave me a good going over and we came to the conclusion that I've never been this healthy. Liver's great, scars are fading, every ache or pain I have ever had is gone."

"You sure?" Remy pressed, putting his hands on her hips and frowning.

"Yep, Rem, I'm sure," Blaze humoured him with wry Mancunian charm. "I even feel like my head has been deep-cleaned. I mean, I thought I had problems, but Astarte was proper tapped." Blaze rapped two fingers against her temple to indicate madness. "She was far more desperate and twisted than I have ever been. It's enough to make a girl feel almost _normal_." She laughed, eyes twinkling. Raising a hand with her three middle fingers extended in a salute, she continued.

"Brownie's honour, this is the absolute truth. I swear I haven't felt this good, this whole since…" She blushed, and dropped both her hand and her eyes. She bit her lip rather than complete the train of her thoughts. "Since a long time ago," she finished lamely, tucking a piece of her hair behind her ear. She couldn't bring herself to say out loud when she had last been this content with her lot in life. She wasn't quite brave enough to tell Gambit that being his girlfriend had been so important to her. Still, after all their years of friendship she was as transparent as glass and Gambit joined the dots pretty much immediately. Remy smiled slyly and brushed her cheek with the back of two fingers.

"It's good to have you back, Petite," he told her kindly.

"Damn right," chirruped Blaze contentedly, before coming over all serious. "I am sorry for what Astarte did. What she said to you in Paris. I couldn't stop her. She just rifled through my mind and took what she wanted. It's my fault she offered you…"

"Exactly what I've always wanted," Gambit cut Blaze off quickly, in case anyone could overhear them. "It ain't your fault Chere, we known each other too long to be keepin' secrets jus' in case somet'ing like Astarte happens. I knew she'd never really give me not'ing. No harm done, eh?"

"I suppose," Blaze said. "That's all she had, really, offering whatever she thought people wanted in return for them working for her. She had no power over the Brotherhood beyond what she could promise them, and she knew it. So did they. If she'd been less cocky she might have realised that it would take more than hunger for power and lust to keep them loyal to her."

"Lust eh? Gambit leered. "Guess she got lucky pickin' a host to help her out with dat one…"

"Are you trying to chat me up?" Blaze laughed, shoving him away playfully. "You'll have to do better than that, Cajun." Flicking her hair over her shoulder, she turned and walked away, hips swinging, knowing that Gambit was laughing just as much as she was. C'est la vie…

"Trust you to be fashionably late," teased Bobby as he stood to greet Blaze with a friendly hug.

"Oi, it's my party," Blaze retorted.

"It's your round," Bobby corrected her earnestly, bringing a chorus of laughs from the gang.

"How does that work, I only just got here?"

"Ahem," Cam Mitchell cleared his throat to draw Blaze's attention. "Need a hand?"

A wicked sparkle came into Blaze's eye as she blatantly looked Mitchell over. "It's Shaft, right?" He nodded, accepting his call-sign. "Sure," she decided, "why not?"

"I thought you were sworn off man-handling?" Bobby quipped.

"That was so last week," Blaze dismissed him. "Besides," she confided, "Air Force uniform…" Bobby looked confused, so Blaze tipped her head in the direction of Storm and Teal'c. "'Ro knows exactly what I mean," she laughed, before whisking herself off to the bar with a befuddled Mitchell in her wake. Bobby and Storm exchanged an amused glance.

"I think our Blaze is back," said Ororo, feeling a weight lifting from her shoulders. Bobby grinned.

"Is that a good thing?!"

The End


End file.
